


A Lock of Hair to Remember You By

by Wooly_Marmalade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Character Death, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), M/M, Murder, Not Canon Compliant, Possessive Behavior, Tragedy, Translation Available, Unhappy Ending, Veela Harry Potter, some fluff to ease the passageway lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24597673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wooly_Marmalade/pseuds/Wooly_Marmalade
Summary: Tom Riddle fancies himself as a collector of sorts. Precious heirlooms and lost artifacts all seem to eventually find their way into his hands. So when he finds a half-Veela boy with striking green eyes that burn into his soul— well, how can he resist?Brazilian Portuguesetranslation available thanks to the lovely Opsbaby66 🥰
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 157
Kudos: 599
Collections: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, voldemort is my past present and future





	1. Chapter 1

The veela camp was easy enough to destroy. It lied on the outskirts of the forest, sheltered enough that help would not come if sought. Veela hunting was outlawed, but with the value their hair held in potions and wand-making, it was not an uncommon occurrence. Tom Riddle, procurer and seller of all things dark, felt no guilt in eradicating the village and collecting the remains.

It was when he was cutting off the hair—bright, fire-y red that would no doubt fetch a high price—from one of the bodies that he saw the child. Huddled under the fallen remains of a hut was a small boy, perhaps around ten years of age, who was shivering despite the fires surrounding him and whose eyes glistened with tears.

Still clutching the woman’s hair in his hands, Tom’s eyes locked with the boy’s and his breath hitched.

Flames danced around them, burning the remains of the village to the ground, but it was nothing compared to the smoldering emerald eyes the boy held, which were so strikingly cool against the wrecked surroundings that they almost seemed to cut Tom’s skin.

Tom Riddle’s mansion was adorned with valuable artifacts, some acquired by chance and some through more nefarious means. He was a collector, of sorts, of any items that struck the soul with a sense of beauty.

Dropping the body of the woman, Tom stood and made his way over to the boy, who seemed to shrink back at every step he took. Even when paralyzed in fear, the boy’s eyes shined brighter than the fresh glistening blood that surrounded them.

It seemed that Tom Riddle had finally found the centerpiece to his collection.

* * *

When Harry awoke, his body was uncomfortably sore—although not quite painful—and he could make out burn marks littering his skin. Taking in his surroundings, he found himself in an overly large bed that dwarfed his small figure. The sheets were pure white and so velvety soft Harry could not help but burrow himself further into the mattress.

Around him was an empty room, save for the bedside drawer, atop of which was a glass of water. Seeing the glass brought to Harry’s attention how drastically parched his mouth was, and he quickly gulped down the liquid, soothing the ache in his throat.

Harry tried to recall how he got here, but the past couple of days were under a blurry haze, as if something was repressing the memories. The last he could remember was his mother, with her kind delicate eyes and smile, tucking him into bed and pressing a gentle kiss upon his forehead.

He was suddenly struck by a painful bout of loneliness and wished for nothing else at that moment than to be locked in his mother’s embrace.

It was then that the door across from him opened, bringing in a man unrecognizable to Harry.

He was tall, although not unreasonably so, and his hair was pure black, the bangs of which were neatly combed to the side and curled slightly.

His eyes were a deep, wine blood red, and gave Harry goosebumps trailing down his spine.

“Oh, you’re awake,” the man said huskily, voice amicable but putting Harry on edge.

Harry didn’t respond.

The man didn’t seem to mind, and smiled gently, eyes wrinkling slightly.

“I was worried, when I found you. You had severe burns all over your arms, and I was afraid I was too late. I am glad to see you healthy enough to glare at me,” he said coyly.

“…Where am I?” Harry asked warily.

“My manor. I found you on the edge of the forest, badly injured, and brought you here. You were alone, and I could not detect the source of the injuries. Do you remember much?”

“No,” Harry replied reluctantly. “My memory is… fuzzy.”

The man gave Harry a worried expression. His apparent sympathy lessened Harry’s hackles and his previously raised shoulders relaxed slightly.

“I am unaware of what happened to you, but by your injuries, I can only suspect. I am afraid that the trauma might have blocked your memories.”

“And what, exactly…” Harry swallowed nervously, “do you suspect happened?”

The man bit his lip and gave Harry a pitying glance, seeming reluctant to pass on the information.

“You are veela, yes? Or half, perhaps, given that you are male. There have been rumors of a camp residing near the forest.”

“Yes, I am. Half,” Harry said, frowning. Where was he going with this?

“Lately there’s been—bounty hunters, of sorts. Passing through the village. They tend to be savage in acquiring their materials,” the man said, grimacing slightly.

Harry still didn’t understand. His people lived simply; there was not much of value among them. At Harry’s confused expression, the man elaborated.

“Perhaps you do not know,” he said gently, with an air of sadness. “Veela hair is quite valuable in the black market. It is useful in a variety of ways and tends to fetch a high price. The bounty hunters would not stop at much to acquire some.”

At that, Harry’s eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat.

“We were—attacked? Is what you mean?” he rasped out.

The man gave Harry another sympathetic glance and nodded.

“I can only assume, but yes. I looked around to see if I could find anyone else, but I’m afraid you were the only one I saw.”

Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes and struggled to breathe. The man rushed over to him and rubbed his shoulders soothingly. The shock of grief broke down any remaining suspicions Harry had of the man, and he leaned into the touch gratefully.

“Do not fret. Although I could not find anyone, I could not find any bodies either. Perhaps some from your village might have escaped.”

Harry flinched at the word ‘bodies,’ but felt a slight ease of comfort nonetheless. His mother was strong, one of the best witches he had ever known. She would not have been easily beaten by bounty hunters.

“Will you take me? I can lead you to my village, it’s hidden in the trees. If anyone escaped, I’ll be able to find them,” Harry implored, voice cracking but confident.

“Of course. Before that, though, I’d like to treat your injuries a bit more, if that’s alright?”

At that, the man held up what seemed to be a cooling salve and a potion, seemingly the reason why he entered the room in the first place.

Harry gave a weak smile and nodded, grateful.

“What’s your name? I’m afraid I can’t thank you enough for helping me,” Harry said, confidence in his mother’s safety and rising trust in the stranger making him remember his manners.

“Tom,” he said kindly, returning his smile and giving Harry’s shoulder another gentle caress.

Harry closed his eyes and allowed Tom to rub the salve over his scarred arms, the coolness of which eased his nerves further.

“I’m Harry,” he remembered to say belatedly, becoming slightly dazed at the soothing ministrations of Tom’s hands.

“Harry,” Tom purred. “A beautiful name.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush and avoided eye contact in his embarrassment.

Tom seemed pleased, somehow, and brushed back Harry’s hair, his fingers cold against Harry’s warm skin.

“Why don’t you sleep a bit more, Harry? The healing potion will work better if you rest. We can venture out to the forest tomorrow, yes?”

Harry nodded drowsily, indeed feeling fatigued by both the weight of the information given to him and by the hand gently scratching his scalp.

He lied down, weighed down by the thick blanket Tom wrapped him in, and felt the pulls of sleep drag him into the darkness of his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom watched as the child—Harry—slept peacefully, cheek buried in the goose-feather pillow. Tom had to hold himself back from cooing out loud at the sight.

He recalled how soft and delicate his hair was as his fingers trailed through it, and the way the boy eagerly leaned into the touch. The boy was like a riled cat in the beginning, hackles clearly raised at the sight of Tom, but as his suspicions lowered his seemingly true character came out—well-mannered, gentle, and slightly coy.

It pleased Tom immensely to see how clearly the boy showed his emotions in his eyes—confusion, fear, determination. The boy was a bit shy, perhaps, but his will was clearly as fire-y as his mother’s hair.

Before occluding his memories of Tom’s slaughter, he had glanced through the boy’s past. His father, who was non-veela, had seemingly gone missing when Harry was a child. His mother in return spoiled him with double the affection, perhaps explaining why he was so eager to lean into Tom’s caresses.

Tom was almost disappointed by how easy it would be. A lack of a father figure, a predisposition to comfort, and a traumatic event made Harry’s eventual dependency to Tom practically inevitable.

Well, perhaps it was not so bad. Harry was a beautiful child, after all, and it would not do for Tom Riddle’s impatience to break the half-veela in his haste to own him.

The boy was young, but he would surely grow into a handsome young man—no doubt attracting the interest of many. It would be beneficial to have him by Tom’s side, whether as his ward or as his lover. Given the way the boy blushed prettily when praised by Tom, he suspected the latter would not be difficult to achieve.

His pondering was cut short by the sounds of Harry’s whimpering from across the room. Glancing over, he saw Harry with his eyes clenched shut and sweat dampening his brow. A nightmare, it seemed. Occluded memories had a nasty way of burdening the subconscious mind, particularly in sleep.

Walking over, Tom gently sat by Harry’s side, wondering what the best way to approach the situation would be. Waking the boy would set him in a panic, possibly making it harder for Tom to calm him. He decided to card his fingers through Harry’s hair again, thinking perhaps the contact might sooth his nerves.

The boy did indeed seem slightly more at ease at the touch, pressing into it even in his sleep. Even so, the whimpers continued.

Tom decided to probe his mind a bit, searching for the pained memories and drawing them away from the forefront of Harry’s mind. It was a technique Tom used on himself when he was younger, forcibly fogging the night terrors he used to have all too often.

Tom was relieved to see Harry’s eyebrows finally unfurrow, tranquility returning to his delicate features.

Lying on his side, Tom gently scooped Harry into his embrace, laying the child’s head upon his chest. Seeing the boy sleep so peacefully seemed to inflict a similar tranquility to Tom’s mind. He wondered if it was an effect of the veela to mirror their emotions onto those nearby.

Closing his eyes, Tom tried to remember what he knew of the semi-humans. He was knowledgeable, of course, but perhaps not as much as he should be if he was going to be taking one into his care. He recalled reading that when angered, veela would sprout wings from the backs of their shoulders.

Yawning, Tom fell asleep to the image of Harry with pure white angel’s wings.

* * *

When Harry awoke, he almost thought that he was back in his village, locked in his mother’s arms. Dazedly blinking his eyes and regaining his senses, Harry realized that he was instead being tightly held by Tom, his rescuer from the other day.

Bound by Tom’s strong arms and pressed against his chest, Harry’s heartbeat quickly rose. He looked up and his breath hitched to see the man sleeping peacefully, not a single wrinkle marring his face. His breathing was slow and rhythmic, and Harry found himself obsessed with listening to the way Tom breathed in and out, the air from which gently ticked Harry’s cheeks.

Harry wondered if it was cruel of him to feel this calm while he had the knowledge that his people were likely severely injured (he refused to think of them as dead). Nonetheless, Harry couldn’t help but feel a strong pull towards the other man, filling his heart with a strange sense of contentment.

Harry couldn’t stop himself from wriggling an arm out of Tom’s clutches and using it to brush the hair out of the man’s face. His hair was pitch black, like Harry’s, but unlike his it was neat and gently slipped through his fingers. His mother always teased him for his unruly hair, and he was suddenly struck by the self-conscious thought that Tom might think he looked childish. He wondered if even someone as seemingly put-together as Tom had messy hair, perhaps in the morning. He smiled at the thought.

As if reading his thoughts, the man in question suddenly stirred, eyes opening slowly. Before, the crimson eyes struck Harry with a sort of primal fear. Now, however, he couldn’t stop himself from gazing into the dark red pools in wonder.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

Tom seemed shocked for a second, as if he forgot where he was. The expression was quickly hidden, however, by Tom’s mask of calm.

“Good morning, Harry. Did you sleep well?” The man’s voice had no trace of grogginess despite having just woken up.

“Yes,” Harry said, suddenly mindful of the way he was still being held tight in Tom’s arms. “Did you?”

Tom seemed to hesitate a bit before replying.

“Yes. I—It has been a while, since I have been able to sleep that well. I usually find myself plagued by all kinds of manner of thoughts, but it seemed having you with me had a… calming effect, of sorts,” the man said, a slight flush coloring his cheeks while he looked slightly confused, as though it surprised him to sleep well, though he schooled it quickly.

Harry couldn’t help but mimic the blush, though much darker than Tom’s own. He snuggled deeper into Tom’s embrace and was pleasantly rewarded with Tom’s arms gripping him tighter.

The moment was ruined, however, by Harry’s stomach grumbling loudly. Harry groaned and hid his face in Tom’s chest, while the older man simply laughed and released Harry from his grasp.

“Shall we go eat, Harry?” Tom asked, grinning cheekily.

Harry pouted slightly but nodded nonetheless. He was led into the dining room, all the while Tom gave a slight tour of the rooms they passed by on the way. Harry was particularly intrigued by dark room Tom claimed was for producing muggle photographs.

“I’m not particularly fond of muggles, I must admit, but I find myself drawn towards their photography,” the man had said. “Wizarding ones are too personal—the memory of anyone caught in one gazing at you, repeating their movements like puppets on a string.

“Muggle photographs are… silent. It’s appealing to me.”

Harry wondered what kind of photographs Tom owned, that were too loud to look at. He decided it wise not to ask. Instead, he inquired about the different relics they encountered, the plethora of which littered Tom’s house.

He found out Tom was an amateur collector of anything he found beautiful, most of which were ancient heirlooms and the like.

“Which one is your favorite?” Harry asked. He was then startled by an intense stare from Tom, who seemed to look over Harry ravishingly before smirking. Harry’s mouth felt dry.

“Rowena’s diadem, perhaps,” he then said simply, ending the tension, before finally leading Harry over to the table. It was large and could likely seat around twenty people. Harry was surprised that Tom lived alone in such a large manor and wondered if he ever got lonely. In his village, the huts were small and everyone invited themselves over without asking. He then realized that he didn’t actually know whether or not Tom lived alone, and that perhaps Tom had a wife and children sequestered somewhere Harry simply couldn’t see. The thought gave Harry an ugly lurching feeling, his heart clenching painfully.

“Tom, do you… live alone? That is, your house is just so big that I couldn’t help but wonder,” Harry rambled, trying not to seem desperate for the answer. Tom gave him an indulgent smile before answering.

“I do. I’m… not fond of most people, I suppose. I have to be in contact with a lot of nasty individuals in my line of work and being alone at home is a reprieve I am grateful to have.”

He glanced at Harry’s worried expression before purring out, “Your company, of course, is one that I would never tire of.” His eyes wrinkled and he smiled smugly at Harry’s bashful expression before setting down their breakfast, provided silently by his house elf, at the table.

“When would you like to go investigate the forest, Harry? I am pleased that your injuries are healing so well.”

Harry’s mood dampened somewhat at the reminder of why he was here. It was so easy to get lost in the gentle comfort of Tom’s presence and his freely given camaraderie. Harry was social, yes, but he had never felt as strongly attached to someone as he had to Tom, much less so quickly. Chewing his food, Harry answered.

“After we finish breakfast, maybe? The earlier we go, the more likely that there will be escape trails left behind.”

Tom hummed in agreement and the two finished their breakfast in a comfortable silence.

* * *

As Tom let Harry lead him to his village, Tom found himself wondering how Harry would react to the destruction found there. There were no survivors, of course, Tom made sure of that. Most of the bodies were burned, but Tom had left some of the corpses intact in case Harry would mistakenly believe everyone had escaped. At the time, he had found himself debating on what to do with the body of Harry’s mother. He eventually decided against burning it, as it would be troublesome if Harry thought she ran away and insisted on leaving Tom behind to look for her.

As he took in Harry’s pale visage, however, he rapidly started to doubt his choice.

Arriving at the village, Harry had inhaled sharply at the smoke and ashes littering the ground. It was only when he saw his mother’s body, however, that he seemed to completely break down.

He was silent upon seeing her, not even letting out a gasp. He simply dropped down to his knees next to her body while all the blood left his face, leaving his emerald eyes to light up his starkly white skin.

He began to cry, silently, and Tom found himself at a loss for what to do. He had expected an outburst, of sorts, whether of anger or sadness; instead, he was greeted by Harry’s soundless suffering. He wanted to give the boy comfort but had no idea how.

Eventually, after several minutes passed of Harry simply gazing upon the lifeless body of his mother, he came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Harry?” he said quietly, so as to not startle him. “Are you alright?”

It was then that the dam seemed to break, and Harry quickly rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around Tom, grip so tight it was bordering on painful. He took in a heavy shuddered breath and his tears stained Tom’s shirt.

“Oh, Tom, Tom!” he sobbed, voice filled with anguish. “Tom, she’s d-dead!”

Saying it out loud seemed to make it even worse, and Harry began to shake as grief overtook his body. Tom gripped Harry back just as tightly, resting his chin on the boy’s head. He was struck, somehow, with the slightest pangs of guilt. He did not care about the woman in the slightest, but to have such a visceral and tormented reaction from Harry brought Tom a sense of regret in having killed her.

He wondered, again, if this was Harry simply mirroring his emotions onto him as part of his veela abilities. Or perhaps Tom had simply gotten attached to the boy so strongly this soon. He was not a fool to his own emotions, and he could not deny the pull that he felt towards Harry. He felt the urge to protect him, to make him happy and bring back the delicate smiles he saw in the morning.

Rubbing his back, Tom gently shushed the boy and rubbed his chin over the boy’s hair. “Shh, shh, Harry. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

Harry simply cried harder and dug his nails into Tom’s back. Tom slowly led Harry away from the village, kneeling down with him on its outskirts, all the while quietly offering the boy words of comfort and embracing him.

They stayed like that for hours, Harry sobbing until his tears ran out and shaking until his nerves gave up. He slumped, eventually, against Tom’s chest, mentally exhausted to the point of collapsing. Tom hugged the boy tightly before apparating back to the manor, gently setting him down on the bed in the guest room Harry had slept in before.

As he and Harry laid side by side, Tom spent the night wondering if it was perhaps possible to bend the rules of death and bring Harry’s mother back to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry woke up, eyes puffy from crying, and immediately felt empty. He was in Tom’s arms again, but the action failed to bring the same fluttering feelings from before. It seemed far away from him now—embarrassment and the blossoming of a crush—in the face of his mother’s death.

Harry could see it clearly, his mother’s sunken eyelids and the rotting smell of her corpse. Harry shoved Tom away, unable to bear any form of contact at the moment, and rushed over to where Tom showed him the bathroom was to promptly vomit in the toilet.

His mouth tasted stale and it only exacerbated the feeling of repulsion welling inside him. He remembered loosely wondering at some point in his life that his mother would probably look beautiful even in death. He was wrong, and there was nothing beautiful in the way Lily’s previously rosy cheeks were replaced with the disgusting shade of decaying skin.

Harry gagged again, only to notice Tom standing at the foot of the doorway, looking pained.

Harry wanted desperately to go back to the other day, when things were easy and unstrained between the two of them. Tom would pet his hair, while Harry would eagerly soak up the touch.

Now, any contact with the man seemed like a betrayal. What right did he have to be comfortable and at peace when his mother’s lifeless body was sinking into the ground?

Tom seemed to realize Harry’s reluctance at any forms of physicality, and Harry was immensely grateful for the distance Tom left between them. He still felt the unexplainable draw to the man, and Tom’s constant understanding of Harry’s needs only strengthened the bond Harry felt between them. It was just that his mind could only take so much, and any form of happiness right now felt like it could cause Harry to shatter.

Tom left silently, leaving Harry to rest his sweaty forehead on the toilet seat, before returning with a chilled glass of water. Harry accepted it in quiet gratitude and first rinsed out his mouth before quickly swallowing down the rest of the water.

Tom sat down, cross-legged, joining Harry on the floor, albeit not close enough to touch.

They basked in the silence and the smell of bile for a few minutes before Harry ended the peace.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry said brokenly, voice caught on a sob.

“Oh, Harry,” Tom whispered gently. “It’s okay, you don’t have to think about anything just yet. It takes time.”

“And you would know?” Harry scoffed, indignation overtaking him.

Tom stared at him and said quietly, but firmly, “We all have our sorrows, Harry. Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only one.”

Harry flinched at the reprimand, but muttered out a ‘sorry’ in acquiescence.

Tom’s eyes softened and he shook his head.

“You can’t rationalize sorrow, Harry. No matter what either of us says or does, the ache in your heart won’t go away—not any time soon. The only thing you can do is live on in any way you know how.”

Harry nodded and took comfort in that at the very least, he wouldn’t be expected to act okay any time soon.

“Where will I go?” he wondered softly, imagining himself having to live alone in the remains of his burned down village.

Tom gave Harry a small, rueful smile at that.

“You can’t possibly imagine I would allow you to stay anywhere other than with me.”

Harry jolted a bit at his words, genuinely surprised. It was true that he felt a connection with the man, and knew it was more or less reciprocated, but that was not to say he expected the man to simply take him in as his ward.

Tom let out a chuckle and let his knuckles lightly run over Harry’s arms.

“I’d be more than happy to lend you my home, with myself as company if you’ll have me,” he said, with a slight upturn of his lips.

Harry finally smiled at that himself, just a bit, and accepted his offer with barely a thought of hesitation.

* * *

Tom felt… strange. He had achieved his goal, of course, of confining Harry to his home. Instead of the satisfaction he expected, however, he was left with a bitter taste in his mouth. It had been a few days since Harry discovered the outcome of his village, and Harry continued to wear the grief like a cloak upon his shoulders.

Seeing Harry— _his_ _beautiful, pure, wonderful, oh-so-delicate Harry_ —so burdened by his sadness kept Tom from feeling any happiness at the boy’s addition to his collection.

He flinched a bit at the thought, feeling a bit disgusted at implying Harry to be an object. He was not the same, after all, as the useless trinkets he left lying around his house. Harry was alive, breathing, with his eyes threatening to bring Tom to his knees every time he looked at them.

The boy was fourteen, Tom learned after a conversation one day, much older than what the man had expected. Harry explained that veela were smaller, even the boys, and said it was easy to mistake—though he snorted when Tom shared he thought Harry was somewhere around ten years old.

Tom himself was young, only twenty-one years of age, and he found himself lightened by the relatively small age gap. It would be easier this way to properly court Harry once he became of age; not that he would have stopped even if the gap was larger, but it was a relief nonetheless.

Harry was closed off, at first, but gradually became more amenable to allowing Tom to touch him. It ranged from gentle brushes of his hand across his shoulder, to embraces that encased Harry’s small figure in Tom’s arms.

Tom did not believe in—in love. His heart was hardened from the orphanage and the betrayals he had suffered over the years. Even so, Tom was not imprudent enough to deny the obvious attraction he felt towards the boy. It would be easy to deny the longing as an effect of Harry’s veela nature, but Tom dispelled the thought given that it was hardly a difficulty for him to slaughter an entire village of the beings, even full ones.

Harry and Tom slept together, of course, having fallen into a pattern and dependency after the first two occurrences. As Tom held Harry in his arms one night, he briefly entertained what would happen if Harry ever found out the truth of how his village met its end.

The thought brought such an immense sense of panic and upset, that Harry woke up and furrowed his brows, comforting him after seeing the man’s visible distress.

Tom held Harry tighter and mentally assured himself that the mind wards were firm in place and would stay that way. Tom accepted that he felt a semblance of regret at his actions, due to the pain it caused Harry. That was no reason, however, to ruin the amicable relationship the two held now. Tom would simply let the actions of the past fade away and make up for it by protecting Harry no matter what. Let bygones be bygones.

And if, for whatever reason, something happened to make Harry doubt in Tom’s trustworthiness—well, he could always just occlude away some more memories, couldn’t he?

* * *

Harry still felt the grief of his mother’s death, of course, but it felt less like needles stabbing into his heart and more like a distant ache with each passing day. It helped that he was not alone and had Tom to comfort him whenever he lapsed into a period of depression. He could not put his gratitude towards the other man into words, but Harry would do anything in his power to repay the man for his kindness.

Harry cooked for them, three times a day. Tom had a house elf, but Harry’s village did not, and Harry found himself missing home-cooked meals made from his own hands. Tom was reluctant, at first, not trusting Harry’s meals would be better than that of his elf’s. After Harry’s pouting and ranting, however, Tom gave up and let Harry cook for them. It was one of Harry’s small joys each day, being able to feed the two of them with food he cooked himself. He was a romantic, after all, and knew each meal tasted better if made with love.

And oh, did Harry have love for Tom.

Harry was not a stranger to his emotions and never shied away from examining his feelings. Harry knew he was loving by nature, had loved everyone in his village immensely, but it was different for Tom. It was not a platonic sort of appreciation, nor a childish crush—it was an all-consuming, greedy, _hungry_ love for Tom and all that he was.

Tom shared snippets of his life sometimes, and Harry knew that Tom had at some point in his life given up on the idea of love. His life was too jagged, and if he allowed such a mentality, Tom would have surely broken ages ago.

But Harry was not a fool, and he could see the lingering gazes Tom gave him. He saw Tom interacting with his customers and could easily tell the difference between the stilted, forced smiles he gave them compared to the genuine, heart-melting grins he gave Harry.

It was not lust, Harry knew. Or not _just_ lust, he amended, after noticing Tom’s hands linger at his waistband one too many times. It was an emotional longing; one that made you want to crawl into someone’s ribs so you could hear their heart beat softly. Harry knew this well, of course, because he felt the same way.

Harry also knew that Tom was too much of a gentleman to act on anything until he was of age. Harry knew that it would be improper of him to court a minor, much less one acting as his ward, but he couldn’t help but pout in frustration at the invisible lines Tom drew between them.

Veela were inherently more sensual by nature, not to mention that Harry was a growing teenage boy. Sneaking off to wank in the bathroom after waking up pressed to Tom’s chest had become tedious over time. The age of maturity was seventeen, but perhaps Harry could convince Tom to become a bit friskier when he turned sixteen. It was only a one-year difference, after all, and Harry knew Tom was holding himself back just as much.

Even so, Harry was satisfied with the small touches Tom granted him. It was difficult at first, accepting happiness after the aftermath of his sorrow. But Harry knew that he could not linger on sadness forever; Lily would not wish it of him. His mother would want him to continue smiling, not lingering on the memory of her death, but rather remembering her with love.

Harry wondered how his mother would react to finding out about his and Tom’s mutual infatuation for each other. She was quite liberal minded, after all, and neither the age difference nor the gender would matter much for her. She was also quite protective, though, and he knew she would struggle with allowing him to leave her grasp.

Harry smiled to himself, seeing with clarity the way Tom would visit his village to woo him. He would bring flowers, not for Harry, but for Lily, because she would surely anger at his advances. She would glare at him, while Tom would smile that coy smile of his and sugar coat his words so strongly that Lily would be forced to let him in. And she would always complain about him, Harry knew, but she would eventually grow to love him just as strongly as Harry did, and would keep up the anger just for show.

Harry suddenly had to choke back a sob, realizing that it was a fantasy that would never be achieved. His mother was dead, his village was burned down, and he would never get to drag Tom around hand-in-hand, showing him all his favorite places while the veela children ran around screaming in joy around them.

Tom came back from his business appointment to find Harry lying on the floor with his arms covering his eyes, silently sobbing. Without saying anything, Tom lied down next to him, gently embracing him and peppering his face in chaste kisses, occasionally blowing a raspberry upon his skin.

Harry choked out a sound that was a mix between a sob and a laugh and buried his head in the lines of Tom’s body. He loved Tom, and Tom loved him. That would surely be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

It was difficult for Harry not to notice Tom’s casual cruelty. It was rarely directed towards him; rather, Tom had a habit of spoiling him silly. But towards anything else, Tom’s apathy often frightened Harry.

It first started when Harry noticed Tom’s blatant disregard for his house elf’s health. Her name was Poppy, which Harry learned from her directly, given that Tom could not be bothered to remember it. She was overworked to the point that it was more common to see her scarred than not, from the dangerous expeditions he sent her on to gather materials.

Then there was the matter of his occupation. He collected and sold materials of dubious legality, always refusing to answer Harry’s questions as to where he acquired them from. His customers were of the worst sort, those who cared little about common ethics, and Harry often saw them leering at him when they stopped by the mansion.

What was most surprising about that was Tom’s reluctance to do anything about it. Harry knew that Tom was possessive, after all, and his allowing of his customers’ perverse glances towards Harry shocked him. It is true that Harry had never complained to Tom about it, not wanting to bother him, but Tom was too observant a man not to notice.

Harry was an intelligent boy, and he could see with clarity that Tom was damaged. He struggled with morality and compassion, even towards Harry. Although he was most certainly kind and loving, it was easy to see how the man struggled to understand Harry’s more delicate emotions sometimes. He scoffed, for example, at Harry’s love of feeding the animals in the backyard. Tom told him he could hardly comprehend being kind towards humans, much less ‘beasts.’

Harry loved Tom, this was true, but it became slightly more strained with the growing knowledge of Tom’s inner darkness. Harry was fond of a certain rabbit in the gardens, even naming him and often going out just to pet him. But one day, he woke to find Tom had skinned the rabbit and cooked it in a stew.

“You did say that love always makes food taste better, yes? Given how fond you were of this rabbit, I can only imagine how much you’ll enjoy him as a meal,” he had said, smiling.

The worst part was that Harry could tell Tom was not being intentionally malicious. When Harry couldn’t hide his revulsion at the food and started gagging, Tom seemed so genuinely worried and concerned, as if he could not possibly imagine what brought out such a reaction.

And Tom truly did treasure Harry so much. When Harry scraped his knee, Tom immediately not only healed him, but pampered Harry for the entire day, even carrying him around so as to not strain his injury.

He just couldn’t seem to apply this same regard towards Harry to any other living thing. Harry tried explaining to him once the importance of compassion, but Tom simply tilted his head and looked at him so quizzingly that Harry gave up. The man simply did not understand.

Harry took it upon himself, then, to act as the light to Tom’s shadow. Whenever he would notice the man acting particularly cruel, he would calm him with gentle words and caresses. Harry had witnessed once Tom inflicting the Cruciatus Curse on one of his customers, and he was so lost in the torture that Harry had to rip the wand out of his grasp and forcibly turn his head towards his own, kissing him gently until the man came down from the dangerous high he was in.

Harry did not regret choosing to live with Tom, nor choosing to love him, if it could even be called a choice; the pull he felt towards the man was impossible to resist. And if Harry were to be honest with the darkest parts of himself, he would admit that a part of him was gratified by it. Here was a man jaded by his past, so clearly apathetic to anyone around him, loving _Harry_ with everything he had.

That’s why it was easy, in the end, to overlook Tom’s darker aspects. He would always be gentle with Harry, after all.

* * *

It had become second nature, to Tom, to have Harry around him. It had been several months since they lived together, and Tom almost failed to remember being alone. He woke to the soft sleep-riddled features adorning Harry’s face in the mornings and fell asleep to Harry’s sleepy grins that made his heart flutter in the nights.

They worked well together, fitting into each other’s lifestyles with ease. It pleased Tom to see Harry so well integrated into his life; even his customers had noticed the half-veela and would gaze at him longingly. It filled Tom with immense pleasure to know that Harry was _his_ and no matter how much the men would lust after Harry, they would know the boy belonged to Tom only.

And he did not see Harry as an object, of course, but it was simply a matter of fact that the boy belonged to Tom anyways. He most certainly allowed Tom leniency in almost every aspect, even though he knew Harry’s kind nature struggled to understand Tom’s actions sometimes. No matter how cruel Tom would display himself, Harry would simply calm him with gentle kisses and soothing words.

It made Tom wonder just how far he could push the boy.

Tom would never want to hurt his Harry, after all, but there was a certain carnal pleasure in having the boy—usually so strong willed and moral—submit himself to Tom’s wiles. He wanted Harry to understand that he belonged to Tom, now, in both spirit and body.

He tested this once when the two of them sat around the living room, wasting away the time doing nothing in particular. Tom caught Harry’s attention by sliding a finger up under his chin, raising it, waiting until the boy met his eyes. He then slowly brought his hand down to Harry’s throat, lightly squeezing in a demonstration of faux choking.

The boy immediately shivered and his eyes drooped half-lidded, a slight whimper escaping him. He did not resist, Tom noted with pleasure, but rather relaxed completely, as if allowing Tom to do anything he wanted with him.

Tom shuddered at the giddy lust and power he felt from the boy’s actions, and slowly brought his hand down, trailing over Harry’s chest, before distancing himself from the boy completely and occupying himself with a newspaper. He happily ignored the way Harry squirmed from beside him, slightly out of breath and flushed red.

He would play around with this from time to time, trapping Harry in his tight embrace with no forewarning or teasing the boy before leaving him unsatisfied. Every time, Harry allowed him eagerly, leaning into his touch and absorbing any ounce affection he could gain.

Tom wondered sometimes how he was lucky enough to acquire such a beautiful boy, but then remembered it took slaughtering his entire village to have Harry with him now.

He happily glossed over that point and continued to smother his boy with his attention.

* * *

It was one of Harry’s greatest achievements to finally convince Tom to take him outside as a date. Tom seemed to loved staying cooped up at home, but Harry longed not only to escape the stuffy house for a bit, but to enjoy contact from people other than Tom and his frightening shoppers.

Harry happily held Tom’s hand in his own, pressing into his side, as they walked through the market of the nearby village. Harry, who had rarely left his original home with the veela as a child, greedily soaked up the smells and sights surrounding him. Tom watched him with an indulgent smile as he excitedly babbled about everything he saw.

“Oh, and they even have little _animals_ for sale, Tom!” he cooed. “Oh, look at how cute the little bunnies are!”

Harry gushed over the menagerie of animals available for adoption, petting some who were out of their cages. Tom looked at him fondly as he glanced over the shop.

“Would you like one?” he asked warmly.

“A bunny? We do already have a lot in our backyard, you know.”

Tom laughed and shook his head.

“Not a bunny, no. A pet in general. Some company would do you good, I think, especially while I am working. They have plenty of animals to choose from, even snakes.”

“Oh!” Harry squealed. “A snake! Oh, I do so love snakes, Tom. Could we get one?” he looked at Tom pleadingly, even though he knew the man wouldn’t refuse.

“Of course, Harry,” the man said, chuckling. “Go on and choose one.”

Harry looked around in awe, gasping at the beauty of some of the animals he saw. He eventually stopped in front of a stunning green python, perhaps three feet in length, who took his breath away.

It hissed at him curiously, causing Tom to laugh.

“She says you’re very pretty, Harry. I must say I agree with her.”

Harry jerked his head up quickly and met Tom’s eyes.

“You can understand her?” he said in wonder.

“I can,” Tom said, smiling smugly. “I’m a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself, after all. The ability is passed down in blood.” 

“Wow,” Harry gasped out, impressed. “Can you ask her, then, if she’d like to come home with us? Tell her I think she’s very pretty as well.”

Tom nodded, smiling, and Harry listened eagerly as Tom exchanged hisses with the snake. He then picked her up and set her on Harry’s shoulders. She hissed in Harry’s ear happily and Harry brought his hands up to help carry her heavy weight.

“She’s quite eager to be with you, Harry,” Tom laughed. “You have her quite enamored with you.”

“Does she have a name?” he inquired.

Tom shook his head, “It’s up to you. Snakes rarely name themselves, after all.”

Harry bit his lip, trying to think of a suitable name but unable to find anything that would suit the beautiful snake.

“Can you come up with something, Tom, please?” he begged.

Tom pet his hair at that, cooing, and agreed. He thought about it as they bought the snake from the merchant and made their way home.

“Nagini,” he said firmly, nodding.

Nagini. Perfect, Harry thought in a daze.

“Welcome home, Nagini,” he whispered to her as she nudged her head along his cheek. He realized that it was the first time he had truly begun to think of Tom’s manor as ‘home.’ Grasping Tom’s hand firmly in his own, he walked back to the house with a renewed sense of happiness he had not felt for a while.

Home.


	5. Chapter 5

Nagini was an absolute wonder, and Harry loved her immensely. He was jealous that Tom could understand her, for even Harry could tell that she was extremely intelligent. Tom assured him that at the very least, Nagini could understand English, so Harry would often spend his days chattering one-sidedly to the snake while Tom was busy.

Harry was happy to see that even Tom seemed smitten with her, and the three of them often spent hours lazing around in the backyard, the sun warming their skin. Nagini seemed to particularly enjoy slithering under Harry’s clothes to keep warm, much to Harry’s embarrassment and Tom’s amusement.

Harry would generally walk around with Nagini resting on his shoulders, which pleased Tom given that she was venomous and would do well in protecting him if needed.

Harry just thought she was cute.

He also greatly enjoyed how now whenever Tom’s customers would leer at him, Nagini would rise threateningly and hiss at them before they scurried off in fear. He always made sure to feed her extra tasty mice after doing so.

It was when the three of them were eating dinner (Harry had cooked pasta for him and Tom, with a nice mix of lizards and rats for Nagini) when they were startled by the knocking on the door. Tom had no more visitors for the day and there was no one who would simply pay the two of them a friendly unannounced visit. As such, they were instantly slightly uneased, approaching the door with caution.

* * *

When Tom opened it, Harry huddled behind him with Nagini ready to strike, they were greeted by an old man unrecognizable to Harry. He had a long white beard, half-moon spectacles lying slightly crooked on his nose, and overall reminded Harry of the caring grandfathers from his village that loved to meddle. But although the man was a stranger to Harry, Tom clearly recognized the man, if the intense scowl on his face was anything to go by.

“ _Dumbledore_ ,” he spat, venomously. It was the first time Harry had seen the man act so outwardly belligerent towards another person.

“Tom,” the old man replied coolly, seemingly just as hostile towards Tom though showing it in a more reserved way. “And you must be Harry Potter, yes?”

Harry was startled to hear the man address him, and promptly hid himself behind Tom, gazing at the man warily. Tom also looked severely riled, seeming ready to pull out his wand and hex the man in a moment’s notice.

“And _how_ ,” Tom hissed, “exactly, do you know that?”

“Do calm your temper, Tom,” the gentleman—Dumbledore—said coldly. “This is simply about the matter of Harry’s acceptance into Hogwarts.”

Tom squinted suspiciously.

“Hogwarts? You recruit children at eleven years of age, if I recall, not fourteen.”

“Yes, unfortunately, something was blocking our ability to locate Harry as a magical child until now,” Dumbledore replied. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you, _Tom?_ ”

Harry, angered at the clear antagonism from the man towards Tom, came out from behind him and glared.

“It wasn’t due to Tom at all, _sir_ ,” Harry spat out. “The veela camp had magical fortifications that blocked it from external notice. It was _Tom_ that took me in when the village was attacked.”

Dumbledore seemed shocked at the information, looking over at Tom dubiously.

“You are part veela, then, Harry? I am grateful that Tom has—taken care of you,” the man said reluctantly, glancing back towards Harry.

Harry said nothing, still glaring at him.

“We have not had a veela student for a long time,” the man said, trying to return to Harry’s good graces. “The last we had was Lily Evans. Do you know of her?”

The world suddenly came crashing down, and Harry felt as if he had been splashed with cold water. His mouth felt dry.

“Lily Evans? As in… my mother?” Harry rasped out.

“She was your mother?” he said with surprise, eyes widening. “Ahh, I see now. I do recall her eloping with a certain James Potter. The resemblance is unmistakable. Are they well?”

Dumbledore looked innocently curious, unaware of the pain the question brought Harry.

“My father… disappeared when I was young,” he said softly. “And my mother—is dead. She was killed by bounty hunters.”

Harry’s fists clenched by his side, heart aching at the memory and feeling slightly nauseous, while Dumbledore stood frozen in shock, eyes crinkling sympathetically. Tom looked over at Harry sadly, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and pulling him into his side. Harry leaned into him, ignoring the glances Dumbledore sent them at the action, and breathed out deeply.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss, Harry,” the man said gravely. “The two of them loved Hogwarts deeply, and I think you would have a similar affection for it. May I come in to discuss it?”

Harry looked at Tom, silently asking permission, and Tom reluctantly nodded. He moved aside to let Dumbledore in, and thus Harry learned about Hogwarts.

* * *

Tom was angered, immensely, at Dumbledore’s appearance. The man had antagonized him even as a child, and though Hogwarts was like a second home for Tom, never having to see the old man again after graduating was a blessing he greatly appreciated.

And now the man had the audacity to come into his home, trying to take Harry away from him? Tom was half tempted to smite the man down where he stood.

Even so, Tom greatly treasured his days at the school and knew it would be remiss of him to not allow Harry the same opportunity. After all, it was not as if he would let Harry go alone.

Tom _was_ interested in the Defense position ages ago; perhaps it would not be too much of a hardship to apply again. It might be difficult to be accepted given Dumbledore was still the headmaster, but Tom would kill before letting Harry out of his sight for a day, much less for an entire school year. Dumbledore would have to work out his issues if he wanted any chance of Harry attending his school.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed positively bumbling with excitement with the opportunity to enroll. He had no idea that there was a school dedicated to learning magic and was practically drooling with the eagerness to go. He was social by nature, and the opportunity to meet fellow wizards and witches and learn with them was like liquid dopamine for the boy.

Tom couldn’t help but feel slightly peeved at the idea that Harry was so ready to leave him and couldn’t resist teasing him after Dumbledore left.

“Oh, Tom, Tom, I _have_ to go! It sounds incredible!” Harry gushed.

“Oh?” Tom replied coolly, raising an eyebrow. “And you would have no qualms about leaving me behind for so long?”

Harry deflated instantly, eyes looking down.

“I—I didn’t think about that,” the boy said sadly. “I _would_ have to leave you alone, wouldn’t I?”

The boy bit his lip, clearly conflicted, and Tom internally smirked. He continued to prod the issue, however, addicted to seeing Harry so troubled over him.

“I admit, Harry, I’ve gotten so used to holding you in my arms as I sleep that it would be difficult for me to let you go. Given that it clearly wouldn’t make a difference to you, however, I suppose I have no issues with you going,” Tom said, afflicting his tone with a slightly pained air.

“No!” Harry instantly rebuked, eyes wide, grabbing the front of Tom’s shirt and pulling him towards him. “No, Tom, you know that isn’t true. I couldn’t bear to be apart from you either.”

Tom greedily soaked up Harry’s pleading tone, who seemed terrified at the idea of Tom thinking Harry wouldn’t mind separation. He drew the boy into his embrace and nuzzled him happily.

“I’m glad, Harry, truly. However, I do wish for you to attend Hogwarts. I did the same and it was a period of great happiness in my life,” he said gently.

“But—” Harry started to protest.

“There are some possibilities I could think of to work around the issue,” Tom said, smiling and looking into Harry’s confused eyes.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, tilting his head and furrowing his brow. “It’s not like you can attend the school, you’re too old.”

Tom couldn’t resist snorting at Harry calling him old and ruffled his hair.

“You’re right, I most certainly couldn’t attend Hogwarts as a _student_ ,” Tom said. “A teacher, however, is not so much out of the question.”

Harry’s eyes widened and sparkled as he understood, and his previous excitement returned in full force.

“Oh, Tom, that would be incredible! That way I could attend school while still being with you!” he said happily.

“That was the idea, yes,” Tom said, smirking.

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously and looked at Tom warily.

“You planned that from the beginning, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“You jerk!” Harry gasped out, outraged. “I was feeling horrible just now! I hate you _so_ much.”

“Harry, we both know that couldn’t be further from the truth,” Tom said smugly, kissing him gently on the forehead. “And I _was_ feeling a bit upset at how eager you were to leave home.”

Harry grumbled a bit, blushing, muttering more insults under his breath, but leaned into Tom’s embrace anyways.

* * *

Tom applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position the next day, and Harry was slightly worried over the possibility of him being rejected. It was easy to see the animosity between him and the headmaster, after all, and though Dumbledore was seemingly fond of Harry, he was unsure if that would be enough.

Even so, Harry had faith in Tom’s possessiveness, and knew that he would stop at nothing to achieve what he wanted. Harry briefly entertained the possibility of Tom blackmailing the school in order to gain the position and chuckled. He wouldn’t be surprised.

After Tom’s teasing, Harry was shocked, somewhat, as he realized just how dependent he had grown to the man. When Tom said he’d have to leave him behind to attend Hogwarts, his heart instantly filled with dread. Harry could barely stand just the thought of it and could hardly even imagine how he’d manage to sleep without Tom around.

Harry wondered if he should be worried, but the realization of how much he needed Tom somehow just made him more content. A greedy part of himself savored the fact that his need was reciprocated, and the two of them would never willingly leave the other alone.

Harry remembered his mother speaking fondly of James, love and adoration so clearly heard in her voice. He used to wonder if he would ever find someone who he loved as much as Lily loved his father, and now he had. The thought made Harry feel warm inside.

He was surprised to hear Dumbledore explain that both his parents attended Hogwarts and happily soaked up all the information he gave him about them. They met there, apparently, and eventually fell in love. James was infatuated with her from the beginning, while Lily stubbornly refused his advances until gradually becoming fond of him. Harry smiled when Dumbledore told the tale; he knew his mother was an incredibly stubborn woman and could easily see how she wouldn’t let James have her so easily.

The school seemed like a dream to Harry, and when Tom explained that he would be able to go with him, Harry’s heart almost overflowed with happiness. Harry, who had never been allowed to travel much as a child, desperately wished to explore the outside world and see what he could find there. Which class would be his favorite, he wondered, Care of Magical Creatures, perhaps? His enjoyment of DADA would be a given, of course, he thought with a smile.

Sleeping in the dorms would be a bit difficult, but Harry had no doubt he would somehow concoct a plan with Tom in order to sneak out at night and nuzzle into his embrace. Harry hoped their relationship wouldn’t be too obvious to the students, but at the same time, he took a sort of primal satisfaction in the knowledge that they would know Tom was _his_.

Harry knew Tom was possessive, but he wondered if Tom knew just how much Harry felt the same way—Tom belonged to him, and he would _never_ give him up.


	6. Chapter 6

It was summer now, the end of July—Harry had turned just fifteen. His birthday filled him with a slight sense of melancholy, knowing that he would never get to spend it with his village again. There were not many of them, so birthdays were a public affair that were celebrated together. Dancing, singing, and hearty drinking were to be expected.

Now, however, Harry spent the morning of his birth lazing around with Tom as he so often did. The man had gotten him a stunning silver bracelet in the form of a snake as a present, which Harry accepted with immense gratitude. The snake’s eyes were a glistening ruby red, reminiscent of Tom’s own.

They had gone to Diagon Alley on the same day to buy his school supplies—Harry being eager to study his textbooks before the school year began. His mother tutored him in several subjects, and there was the local school in the village, but all of it generally involved wandless magic, as the veela were prone to using. Harry was surprised when Tom’s eyes glittered in hunger seeing Harry use it for the first time, not knowing that it was uncommon among human wizards. The two chatted on the way about Hogwarts, beginning with what house Harry would end up in.

“Hufflepuff,” Harry mused.

“Hufflepuff,” Tom affirmed.

Well, Harry thought amusedly, that was that, then.

The day passed by fast, even though Harry spent far too much time gazing at every shop window they passed by. They had bought all the required materials but the wand, with Harry’s pet being Nagini, even though snakes were not technically allowed. She would easily sneak in under Harry’s robes; Merlin knew how much she loved staying there.

Tom shrunk her, slightly, so she would be more easily hidden on Harry’s person. He then hissed something to her commandingly, to which Nagini nodded eagerly in response.

Harry squinted his eyes, “You aren’t telling her to do anything bad, are you?”

“Bad? Of course not Harry, who do you think I am?” he said innocently.

“ _Tom_ ,” Harry insisted.

“I simply told her poison and strangle anyone who tries to go near you.”

“Tom!”

Harry spent approximately forty-five minutes squabbling with the man until he finally agreed to call off his order for Nagini. Huffing, Harry insisted that he could take care of himself and hardly needed a snake to fight his battles for him. In response, Tom dragged Harry to a secluded alley and pinned him to the wall, holding both his wrists above his head in one hand and baring his teeth against his neck, slightly biting down.

The way Harry’s knees buckled and his voice rasped out a slight moan was _not_ a fair argument, Harry insisted.

They arrived at Ollivander’s last and Harry noted that when they entered, the man seemed instantly at unease seeing Tom. Harry filed the information away as unimportant; it seemed to be the general reaction towards meeting Tom, nowadays. He smiled as he recalled how some passerby took a double take upon seeing him, before hurriedly scurrying away, avoiding eye contact. Tom looked unbearably smug every time it happened.

Ollivander put on a mask of amicability upon seeing Harry, seemingly attempting to ignore Tom.

“Oh, yes, you are Harry Potter, no?” the man remarked. “You are the spitting image of your father.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised, “You knew my father?”

“I remember every wand I sell, my dear boy,” the man said, before casting a wary glance at Tom. “Even Tom Riddle’s here.”

The man in question simply gazed at him coolly, impassionate towards the wand-maker’s apparent wariness towards him.

Ollivander produced several wands for Harry to try before looking conflicted. He let out a resigned sigh, as if an undesirable but expected outcome had befallen him.

“Try this one, Harry,” he said, pained.

Grasping the wand firmly in his grip, Harry could immediately feel its power trailing from the wood into Harry’s own hand. It intertwined with his magic, and the boy would swear he could almost hear the wand whispering to him seductively, urging him to use it. Casting a small spell, Harry could feel the residual power resting in his fingertips.

“Holly, eleven inches. With a phoenix feather core,” the man mumbled, grimacing slightly at Tom’s raised eyebrow. “The same phoenix donated but one more feather, producing brother wands. You seem to be well acquainted with the other owner already.”

Harry looked puzzled for a minute, before noticing Tom’s smug smile and his eyes widened.

His jaw dropped, looking over at Tom for confirmation. The man nodded silently, eyes crinkled.

Brother wands. Soulmates.

Somehow, Harry wasn’t surprised.

* * *

Eventually, the time had come for Harry to attend Hogwarts. Tom would be coming with him, of course, as he successfully attained the Defense position. Nonetheless, teachers and students were to ride in separate carriages, and Tom reluctantly left behind the boy to board the train. Glancing over the teacher’s booths, he noted the individuals he would be spending the rest of the year working with. He was comforted by the thought that the teachers couldn’t possibly be much worse than the vermin he used to have as customers on a daily basis.

His thoughts were cut off abruptly, however, and he felt as though he was drenched in cold water when he saw one teacher in particular, sitting next to Dumbledore in the far back.

Professor Hartley.

Oh, how Tom would _love_ to Avada Kedavra the man where he sat. Perhaps even desecrate his corpse a bit.

The man was Tom’s Defense professor for almost his entire attendance at Hogwarts, save for his first year. ‘Professor’ seemed too kind a term for him, ‘bane of his existence’ would perhaps be more suitable.

He was Dumbledore’s right-hand man, giving it no question as to why he seemed so eager to put Tom down at any given moment. No matter what Tom did as a child, the man was insistent on sending him glares and passive aggressive remarks at every opportunity.

Honestly, with adults like him making up most of Tom’s early life, it was no wonder he ended up as twisted as he was.

Bringing his attention back to the train, Tom met the man’s eyes and the tension that rose between them was thick enough to cut.

“Professor Hartley,” Tom nodded, inflicting as much casual disdain into his tone as he could.

“Tom, pleasure to see you again,” the man said pleasantly, though his smile was betrayed by the hatred reflected in his eyes. He did not seem surprised to see him, and Tom figured Dumbledore had alerted him beforehand. The two nosy geezers seemed to have no secrets between them.

As much as Tom longed to sit next to his former professor, subtly antagonizing him the whole trip, Tom knew it would be just as painful for him as it would be for Hartley.

As thus, he instead sat next to the man with greasy, long, black hair, who seemed just as disdainful of the world as Tom was at the moment.

Oh, how he longed to have his Harry back in his arms. Tom closed his eyes and imagined the boy’s vivid green eyes piercing his soul, the image keeping him company for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Harry was much too shy to interact with anyone on the train and thus spent the entirety of the ride to Hogwarts in silence. He wished Tom were with him so he could remark upon all the sights Harry eagerly soaked up while gazing out the window.

Eventually, however, he arrived at the school, and Harry could barely contain his excitement. From the moment he entered the castle, Harry felt a sense of something right and warm in his heart. Surely, this was the place he was meant to be.

Harry was transferring into fifth year, and thus had to be sorted along with the first-year students. Harry was in a daze as the hat appointed houses to each child, only snapping out of it when his name was called.

“Harry Potter!” a stern-looking female professor called.

Harry rose, shaking, and sat on the provided chair as the hat was placed on his head. He felt, suddenly, a wave of grief, regret, and resignation wash over him. He wondered if the emotions belonged to the hat, for they were certainly not his own. Harry suddenly found it hard to breath and began gasping for air; his eyes clenched tight in agony from the violent sensations overwhelming him.

Though his heart was being wrung to the point of pain, the hat was dead silent inside his mind until it called out moments later, in a booming voice: “Hufflepuff!”

Taking off the hat, Harry was relieved to find his mind empty of the intruding thoughts and felt his breath return. The experience gradually washed over him like water, and he could barely remember the intensity he felt from the hat as he walked towards his house. He was instantly greeted kindly by his housemates, who promised that first year was always the most fun and he would have a great time here at Hogwarts.

“Ah, I’m—” Harry stuttered out, “I’m a fifth year, actually.”

The house was silent for a moment before breaking out in laughter.

“Oh, Harry, you’re one of those funny ones, aren’t you? It’s good to have you with us,” a young boy said, wiping tears from his eyes.

Harry pouted slightly, deciding to save himself the trouble of trying to convince his peers of his real age. Surely he didn’t look _that_ small, did he?

Being led towards his common room, Harry was slightly unnerved to find that even though he apparently appeared as a first year, it didn’t stop older boys from catcalling him as he walked down the hall. The knowledge that he was part veela seemed to already be known to the entire student body, with the gossip traveling incredibly fast ever since he admitted it at the beginning of the feast. He was particularly frustrated by an annoyingly persistent blonde boy who insisted on following him while speaking vulgarities.

“Oh, but you _do_ have such pretty lips, darling. Won’t you visit me in my quarters one day? I promise I’ll be gentle,” the boy whispered in his ear while harshly grabbing his shoulder, causing Harry to shiver in disgust.

Having had enough, Harry gripped the boy’s wrist tightly and ripped it off his body, glaring.

“I can assure you that I’d sooner visit a troll’s quarters than yours,” he spat.

The boy’s eyes widened in shock before narrowing menacingly, all while his face turned red in anger.

“And _who_ , exactly, do you think you are to be talking to me like that?” the boy hissed. “A Hufflepuff, much less a slutty half-veela one like you, should be _honored_ to have the attention of a Malfoy.”

Raising both his eyebrows in shock, Harry couldn’t hold back an incredulous laugh at the boy’s audacity. Still having the boy’s wrist in his hands, Harry twisted it until the boy let out a whine of pain. Backing the boy into the wall, Harry further tortured the blonde until he grudgingly met his eyes. He could feel Nagini slithering across his skin under his robes, hissing loud enough for the blonde to hear.

“Did you know, _Malfoy_ ,” Harry said lowly, eyes gleaming, “that veela have a ritual consisting of skinning purebloods alive? I’d be more than happy to continue the tradition with you.”

The boy gulped harshly, seemingly frozen in place even after Harry had backed away from him. Scoffing, Harry turned away and began walking back towards his house before bumping into a girl with white-blonde hair, whose blue eyes seemed glazed over in a fog.

“Um, sorry,” Harry coughed out politely, internally wondering _what was it today with blondes?!_

The girl stared at him, crystal eyes flicking over him quickly, as if searching for something.

“I’m Luna,” she announced, quite out of context, and much to Harry’s puzzlement.

“Uh—Harry,” he responded bemusedly, giving her a nod.

“I know,” she said simply. She tilted her head before adding, “Will you be friends with me, Harry?”

Eyebrows furrowed, Harry replied warily, “Sure. Was it me threatening to skin Malfoy that enticed you so much?”

The girl was silent, still looking over Harry, though now with a bit of sadness in her eyes.

“I see fire in your life, Harry,” she whispered, her voice so soft Harry had to strain his ears to hear. “It surrounds you, burning away at your core. I’m scared of what it will do to you.”

Unable to reply, Harry looked at her uncomprehendingly before she eventually walked away in silence, leaving Harry alone.

Doused, somehow, with an insidious feeling of unease, Harry scurried towards his common room—ignoring the prickling feeling across his back that felt eerily like flames.


	7. Chapter 7

The first semester of the school year passed, simultaneously eventful and uneventful. Harry was social, but he nonetheless ended up spending all of his time with the girl named Luna, whose eyes were always glazed over with stars. She had an uncanny ability to understand him completely, which Harry grew to become incredibly thankful for.

“So, how are you and Professor Riddle?” she asked knowingly one day.

Harry choked on his spit in surprise but didn’t question how she knew, simply accepting it as a part of Luna’s nature.

“We’re—good. His quarters are close enough to the Hufflepuff common room that’s it’s easy to sneak out at night…”

Luna smirked softy at that, smile surprisingly lascivious for someone so usually gentle. Harry could feel the flush blooming on his cheeks.

It was interesting, to say the least, to have Tom be his professor. He didn’t act any different in class—which Harry was thankful for, given it was already difficult enough to pay attention, hearing Tom’s firm and deep voice, calling him _Professor Riddle_ and seeing his eyes sparkle in hunger—but in the after hours Tom relished in sneaking out with Harry, showing him all the hidden secrets in Hogwarts he had discovered as a child.

They still slept together every night. The first day of school, when they were forced to sleep separately, they arrived to class with matching dark circles adorning their eyes. After that, Tom would patrol the hallways silently at night until he met Harry, sneaking him into his quarters and holding him until they both fell asleep. Sometimes, when they wished to spend time together in the middle of they day, Tom would lead them to the Room of Requirement. They would spend hours there sometimes, reading or otherwise, simply enjoying the company of the other’s presence.

Harry’s favorite class ended up being Care of Magical Creatures, as he expected, and he felt a particularly strong affinity for the thestrals he saw occasionally walking around. Their wings were skeletal and fleshy, but Harry was drawn to them in a way he couldn’t explain. He often couldn’t resist gliding his hands lightly across the appendages, shivering at the feeling of bone on his skin. It was only after he inquired about them to Hagrid, who gave him a particularly sympathetic look, that he found out only those who have witnessed death were able to see the beasts. Harry enjoyed seeing them a bit less after that.

His least favorite class was Potions, due to its professor having an unexplained animosity towards Harry. He considered asking Tom about it but didn’t want to encourage him to maim the professor in question, so refrained from complaining. It was to his relief that Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would have class together, allowing him to partner with Luna every time.

The girl was strange, often saying things he barely understood, but she was also gentle and soft in a way that Harry loved of her. She seemed ethereal, in a way, as though she was a deity watching over them. He rarely saw her as anything other than content, other than when they would walk through the dungeons and the shadows of the candle flames danced in Harry’s hair. Luna’s eyes would look so full of grief then, as if in mourning, although when Harry asked her about it all she would give him were strange words about fire engulfing his soul. 

Harry’s time at Hogwarts thus went by quickly. The walls of the castle filled him with a sense of security that almost reminded him of home—back in the veela camp. The thoughts of his mother still plagued him, but he was able to remember her in kindness now as well. Luna sang to him, sometimes, and Harry would remember Lily humming him lullabies before bed. Seeing the sunset reminded Harry of his mother’s red hair, at times appearing burning with warmth. And most of all, the contentment he felt in Tom’s arms made him recall Lily’s gentle embrace and loving whispers.

As time passed, the winter holidays arrived. On the ride back, Harry was allowed to sit with Tom, and he treasured being able to snuggle into his side while softly dozing until they arrived back home.

Seeing the manor after so long brought Harry immense joy, especially since the winter brought with it a beautiful coating of snow. Unlike Harry, who reveled in the white glow surrounding them, Tom seemed to hate the cold with a passion; he hurriedly rushed them inside while shivering. Seeing the man’s teeth clatter slightly, Harry laughed aloud at the man’s perfect façade being broken by a bit of frosty weather.

“Maybe I’ll end up knitting you a scarf for your birthday. In Hufflepuff colors, of course,” he teased.

“Well, you’d have to knit quite quickly, considering you only have around a week,” Tom said grimly, rubbing his arms in an attempt to warm them.

“A week…?” Harry repeated slowly. “Wait, Tom, when _is_ your birthday?”

“31st of December,” he said offhandedly.

“Tom!” Harry cried. “Tell me these things sooner! What’s wrong with you?”

“Apologies, darling,” Tom said smoothly, bending down to press a kiss on the top of Harry’s head. “I don’t think I’ve ever celebrated it, so it slipped my mind.”

Harry pouted slightly, unable to be cross with Tom after saying something like that. He often forgot just how tragic Tom’s childhood was. It pained him to think of Tom young and jaded, shivering in the cold, spending his birthday alone. Harry’s breath hitched a bit and he vowed to never let Tom feel alone again.

“Ugh,” Harry moped jokingly. “Now I don’t have enough time to get you the perfect present. I promise I’ll get you something incredible next year, okay?”

“Having you with me is more than enough, Harry,” Tom assured.

“You only say that because you’ve never experienced my awesome gift-giving skills before,” Harry harrumphed.

Tom laughed, “I’ll look forward to it then. In the meanwhile, is there anything you would like to do to celebrate Christmas together?”

Harry was silent for a moment before he exclaimed, “Oh! You remember how you had that special room for muggle photographs? I’d love to take one of those!”

“I had no idea you were so interested,” Tom remarked, eyebrow raising. “I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

“Then, let’s do it now! Go get your camera,” Harry urged, pushing Tom.

“Now?” Tom complained. “Can’t we wait until it gets a bit less cold? Or at least have dinner first?”

“No-pe!” Harry said, grinning. “And we’re taking it outside, too! It’d be a shame not to capture the snow.”

“You’re lucky I’m so fond of you,” Tom grumbled out, reluctantly gathering his camera and carrying it outside.

Harry simply kissed him on the cheek and enjoyed watching red blossom on the man’s cheeks.

“It’s from the cold,” the man insisted, blush darkening.

“Mhmm,” Harry said smugly, unable to stop the grin overtaking his face.

* * *

Setting up his equipment, Tom asked Harry to close the door, engulfing them in darkness. The darkroom was his favorite area in the manor; he could forget everything, no light to distract him, focusing only on the delicate handling of the film. It was comforting to him in a way nothing else ever was—before Harry, that is.

“Merlin, how can you tell what you’re doing? I can’t see a thing,” Harry murmured.

Tom hummed, “You get used to it, I suppose. Stay close to me, I don’t want you crashing into anything.”

Harry snorted softly but pressed himself into Tom’s side anyways. Tom could tell the boy was squinting harshly, trying to make out Tom’s hands as he began to develop the photo. Tom greedily soaked up the warmth Harry gave off from next to him, even though the cold from outside had long worn off.

They spent the next couple of minutes in comfortable silence, save for the soft sounds of their breathing. It gave Tom a kind of happiness he never thought he could achieve. He was never lonely before, simply resigned to being alone, but now that he had Harry he would rather die than let him go. Even the simple pleasure of hearing the boy breathe in and out was intoxicating.

Hanging up the photo to dry, Tom cleared his throat, almost hesitant to break the silence.

“It’s done,” he rasped quietly.

“Hm,” Harry mumbled out, seemingly just as reluctant to speak loudly. “How long will it take?”

“Ahh, a couple of hours, maybe?”

Tom could feel Harry blinking his eyes against his arm in surprise.

“Wow,” he exclaimed softly. “I didn’t realize it would take so long. Do we stay here?”

“If you want,” Tom hummed.

Harry pressed into Tom’s chest, nodding, and slowly pushed him down onto the floor until they were lying down, entangled in each other’s limbs.

“It’s nice, somehow,” Harry murmured. “The silence… The darkness. It’s nice.”

Tom nodded, wrapping his arms around Harry and sifting his fingers through his hair. He felt Harry breathing in deeply, nose burrowed in Tom’s neck. His heart pounded slowly, reminding Tom that he was here, with him, _alive_.

“Harry?” he said softly.

“Yeah?” Harry got out softly, sounding dazed, almost as if he were falling asleep.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Harry sat up quickly at that, hands pushing up firmly against Tom’s chest.

“Oh, _Tom_ ,” he croaked out. “Truly? You really mean it?”

“ _Yes,_ ” he hissed out, suddenly overwhelmed with how much the emotion overtook him after speaking it aloud. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life, Harry.”

He grasped Harry’s elbows at that, bringing him back down into Tom’s embrace. He could feel Harry’s tears wet against his skin, breath slightly hitching every so often.

“Oh, _I love you too,_ Tom, of course I do. I’ve never loved anyone more,” the boy sobbed out.

Tom stared at Harry and even though it was pitch black, he could still see Harry in his entirety—his messy black hair, his lithe and soft figure, and his burning, bright, green eyes. Tom could be blind and he would still be able to remember Harry in clarity. The whole world seemed to pale in comparison to how brightly the boy shone in his vision.

Tom kissed him them, gently, savoring the taste of his lips. Harry kissed back hungrily, desperately, but Tom cradled his face in his hands and moved his lips slowly until Harry did the same. There was no rush, after all. Tom would be with Harry for eternity.

Harry was not simply Tom’s, he realized finally. Rather, Tom belonged to Harry in his entirety. Without Harry, he knew he would no longer be able to breath, to see, to _feel_. As he moved his hands over Harry’s body, skin-over-skin, he swallowed Harry’s gasps eagerly. The two of them mapped each other's figures in the darkness with their hands. Oh, how he treasured this boy, how he would die for this boy and never regret it. Harry, Harry, _his_ Harry.

In the darkness, their photograph dried; the two of them, hair covered in snow, gazing into each other’s eyes with so much love and warmth that it would melt even the coldest winter frost.


	8. Chapter 8

The new semester began, and Harry was reluctant to part from Tom once more. They had spent the winter holidays snuggled up by the fireplace, hiding from the winter chill through the comfort of their hands on one another. Now, enjoying each other’s easy company for one last time before the train left for Hogwarts, Harry longed for just one more day to spend with Tom. He knew, of course, that they would still be together during the school year—but now that they had confessed their love, pretending to be but teacher and student would be torture for the boy. He wanted to spend every single moment pressed against Tom’s side, displaying to the world that he was _his_ and his alone.

Tom seemed to think the same and cast a quick Notice-Me-Not spell before grabbing Harry’s hands in his own. Harry was wearing thick woolen gloves, which Tom slowly took off before massaging Harry’s bare hands in his own. Tom’s warm thumbs gently pressed themselves into Harry’s palms, gently caressing away the crispy frost from his fingertips. Harry’s cheeks burned.

“Did you know,” Harry cleared his throat, “that in veela culture, hands are a pathway to the soul?”

“Hmm, really?” Tom hummed, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” Harry flushed harder at Tom’s insistent curious stare. “Well, it wasn’t as popular with the younger veela, but hands used to be considered the most intimate part of the body…” Harry trailed off, embarrassed, still conscious of the way Tom kept Harry’s hands grasped in his own.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat as Tom slowly brought his hands up to his lips, kissing them slowly with his eyes closed. He cradled them gently and pressed his lips so softly against them, almost as if he were praying—worshipping Harry.

He opened his eyes then, mouth still resting on Harry’s palms, and the intensity found in the man’s burning scarlet eyes made his knees weak.

He let go then, finally, and the breath returned to Harry’s lungs—as if time had stopped and returned all in that one moment.

Even after boarding the train, Harry could feel the warmth of Tom’s lips lingering on his hands.

* * *

Tom knew that fundamentally, something within him had changed. He was still cruel, most certainly did not find himself inclined to be more kind (to anyone except for Harry, that is). But ultimately, he felt less… jaded. More content.

He had ambitions, of sorts, of plans to accomplish after gathering the connections he wanted. Becoming the next Dark Lord was a thought that fluttered around in his mind more than once in the past.

Now, however, it felt… insignificant. The only thing that truly mattered to him anymore was having Harry in his arms.

That was why even the sudden confrontation from Professor Hartley on the train didn’t dampen his mood much, although it did cause an annoyed twitch of his eyebrow.

“Professor Hartley,” he said coolly as the man sat across from him in the booth. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

The man’s ginger hair was longer now, after the winter holidays, and his face was unkempt. He seemed overtaxed, as if he could no longer bother to keep up the polished mask he had back in Tom’s school days.

“What,” Hartley said, cutting to the chase, “are your intentions with Harry Potter?” His voice was filled with venom.

“Excuse me?” Tom asked, eyes wide. Of all the things the man could ask him about, _that_ was one he had not expected.

“Oh, do cut the crap, Riddle,” he seethed. “Dumbledore told me all about it. He’s living with you?”

Tom tilted his head, “I don’t see how Harry Potter is any of your concern.” _Of course_ Dumbledore had told him, meddling bastard.

“He was—” the man hesitated. “the son of a friend of mine.”

“A friend? James Potter, perhaps? I admit I don’t know much about him,” Tom said, watching Hartley’s expression carefully. “Or perhaps, a friend of Lily’s? You _are_ aware of her death, yes?”

Hartley reared back as if struck before leaning back in towards Tom with animosity engulfing his eyes.

“ _Do not_ say her name, you absolute _bastard_ ,” he said, voice trembling.

Tom was shocked. Before, as his teacher, Hartley’s hatred was passive aggressive in nature. Now, however, the man was unafraid to showcase just how much he disliked him. It seemed to pour out of him in waves.

“If you are worried about Harry, you mustn’t be,” he said simply. “I treasure him deeply.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. A pretty half-veela boy to add to your collection, is he?” Hartley said mockingly.

“Harry is _not_ an object,” Tom said firmly, angrily. “He is my equal. He is… dear to me.”

Somehow, the words seemed to make the professor’s face pale harder.

“Oh, I swear Riddle, if you harm him in the slightest—”

“I have no intention of doing so,” Tom cut him off. “And if I may say, perhaps you should take up your concerns with Harry himself? He is not a child; he can make his own choices.”

“He _is_ a child,” Hartley hissed.

“Perhaps,” Tom shrugged. “But he is more than mature enough to be allowed responsibility. He is strong—strong enough to protect himself if he feels threatened, and wise enough to know what he wants.”

Hartley’s eyebrows rose, as if realizing something.

“ _Merlin_ ,” he breathed. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

When Tom said nothing, he rose suddenly and started walking away, jostling Tom’s shoulder in the process.

“You are _disgusting_ ,” the man spat, fury lacing his tones like flames.

Tom spent the rest of the train ride in silence.

* * *

As much as he missed Tom, it was nice to be back at Hogwarts. He enjoyed Luna’s carefree presence and the steady routine of classes. Even the thestrals filled him with a sense of calm.

What he most certainly did _not_ miss was the blonde git known as Malfoy, who seemed insistent on following him around.

“What part about _no_ do you not understand?” Harry seethed, stopping in the middle of the dungeon hall to confront the boy. The Slytherin had a nasty way of cornering him when he was alone; Luna was currently in her Herbology class and Tom was teaching Defense.

“Mm, darling, I know you don’t mean it,” he purred out. “Is it because I’m a Slytherin? Nasty house pride getting in the way?”

“I can assure you it is _not_ because you are a Slytherin,” Harry said slowly, thinking of Tom, “but because you are an absolutely vile human being.”

Draco laughed harshly, though his eyes carried no trace of amusement. He suddenly grabbed Harry’s chin roughly, tilting his head up. Nagini slithered angrily under his robes.

‘Stand down,’ he whispered quietly, passing it off as a hiss of pain. Draco narrowed his eyes but didn’t question it.

“You know, Harry,” Draco began, voice frosty like ice, “you _are_ a transfer student, so I can understand you being a bit lost. What you seem to have not learned yet is that a Malfoy _always_ gets what he wants.”

At that, Draco pulled out his wand, quick enough that Harry couldn’t react, and pinned Harry to the wall using his magic. He creeped towards him until they were chest to chest. Harry’s heart beat erratically in fear.

“Get the _fuck_ away from me,” Harry said, panicked. 

“Oh, _darling,_ I don’t think I will.”

Draco nudged his nose against Harry’s neck, lips pressed against it slightly, while Harry struggled in vain.

When Draco started trailing his hand lower, however, towards his breeches—something in Harry snapped. He could feel his magic tingling and sent out a wandless burst of energy around his body, breaking Draco’s binding. He was angry now, immensely, and the overwhelmingness of it heightened his senses. He grabbed Draco roughly and shoved him against the opposite wall, his head knocking against it harshly.

“How did you—” the boy groaned, before having his words cut off by Harry gripping his neck tightly.

Harry was seething, could feel the desire to _hurt_ pulse within his veins, and squeezed so harshly Draco couldn’t breathe. The boy slumped, consciousness fading, and Harry belatedly noticed thick rivulets of blood rushing down the boy’s neck.

Harry released him, Draco sliding down to the ground immediately, and looked at his hands. He saw claws—long, sharp, and stained with red—where his fingertips ended.

Draco lay motionless on the floor.

Harry felt numb.

* * *

Harry sat detached, not leaning into Tom’s touch as he normally would, as they listened to the headmaster.

“—part of your veela abilities. Due to your defensive instincts, when under stress, your nails will grow and sharpen, becoming bird like in nature,” he explained.

Tom was absorbing the information intently, although he was growing increasingly worried by the panic the boy next to him was emitting.

“Will he be alright? Draco?” Harry rasped out.

“I hardly think you should care, given what he tried to do to you,” Tom hissed, disgust flaring inside him as he recalled Harry’s hastily given recollection of the events.

“ _Will_ he?” Harry pleaded, ignoring Tom.

“Draco will be fine, Harry. Perhaps a bit scarred, but nothing more.”

Tom heard Harry exhale a relived breath before Dumbledore continued.

“What I am more worried about is you, my boy,” he said grimly.

“Me?” Harry grimaced. “I’m fine, sir. Physically and otherwise.”

Dumbledore shook his head, “It’s not that, Harry. It’s about your being half-veela.”

“What about it?” Tom asked coldly. “If you’re about to blame him because of his blood—”

“Be quiet,” Dumbledore hissed, shocking Tom. It was the most outwardly angry he had ever seen the man. “Veela bodies are intrinsically different from human ones. Being half, the emergence of their abilities can be detrimental to your health.”

Tom’s blood started pounding.

“Given that Harry’s body is not built to support his veela nature, the harsher natures of the species—such as the claws, are likely to take a toll on the boy if not prevented. Particularly the wings.”

“The… wings?” Harry said, voice hoarse.

Dumbledore nodded.

“It is not something I expect you to have seen, given that your camp was largely peaceful. Under extreme stress, wings will burst from the shoulders of a veela. Usually, the body adapts to absorb the change, but in half-veelas—” the man hesitated slightly before continuing, “the wings are documental to be lethal unless dealt with immediately.”

Tom’s entire body felt cold. Harry shifted nervously from beside him.

“And how are they to be ‘ _dealt with_ ,’ exactly?” Tom inquired, sharp tone disguising the panic he felt rising inside.

“The issue with the wings is that they are inherently magical. Although there are few recorded cases, amputation is said to work. Otherwise, the wings will absorb the life energy of the host.

However, given that the wings are sensitive already, using magic to sever them would aggravate them further. Using knives,” Dumbledore grimaced, “to cut them would be the best course of action.”

Tom looked over at Harry, who looked about ready to throw up. He took his hand in his own and squeezed it comfortingly.

“If it comes down to it,” Tom said firmly, staring into Harry’s eyes, “I will do it.”

Harry nodded, still seeming queasy.

“Let us hope it does not come down to that,” Dumbledore breathed out, stress pulling at his brow. “Situations that would cause you mental burden are to be avoided at all costs, Harry.”

Harry opened his mouth, seemingly about to say something, before clasping it back shut. It took him a few more minutes to gather his bearings and finally speak.

“I can feel them, sometimes,” he whispered. “Under my skin. Squirming around my shoulders. It feels like fire, prickling my skin.

"I can feel them beating, whispering to me. Like they’re—alive,” he shuddered.

Tom remembered the dream he had, that first night, of Harry with pure white angel’s wings.

The wings were blood red now, choking Harry as his beautiful, beautiful green eyes dulled and death overtook him.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry was grateful to be home for the summer holidays. The rest of the semester was difficult for Harry, constantly being coddled by teachers and students alike. Even Draco (who had only gotten a few detentions for his actions, something Tom became furious at) seemed to keep himself in check. Dumbledore had apparently given them the order to be mindful around him, much to Harry’s chagrin.

“I’m not some kind of fragile china doll,” Harry muttered on the train ride back home.

“Oh, but aren’t you, Harry? You’re most certainly as beautiful as one,” Tom replied smoothly.

Harry simply grumbled all the way back to the manor. The flora was flourishing, green surrounding the area in abundance. It made Harry long for his camp, surrounded by naught but nature and the delicate tinge of magic. The realization that wings were residing underneath his skin only served to make Harry more aware of his veela nature, something he had been unconsciously suppressing when coming to live with Tom. Harry made a decision, then, to honor the traditions he valued—to not let this part of him slip away.

“Tom?” he prodded quietly one day, while wrapped up in Tom’s embrace for the night.

“Mm?” the man hummed out, lightly dozing.

“Are you aware of any… veela customs?” Harry asked shyly.

Tom sat up slightly, rubbing his eyes awake. “Are you inquiring because you have some you want to celebrate?”

Harry nodded.

“Very well,” Tom said. “Did you have any particular ones in mind?”

“There are—” Harry cut off, suddenly blushing. “There are mating customs we find important. Certain things we have to do in order to represent our purity of will. To showcase the whole of our love.”

“Oh?” Tom raised an eyebrow. “And what do these customs entail?”

Harry bit his lip. “Do you mind if I just show you? It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, just whenever you’re free.”

Tom smiled, kissing Harry’s brow. “Tomorrow is fine.”

* * *

Tom did not expect that when the school year ended, he would spend weeks not in the comfort of his manor, but in a shabby tent they had acquired from the local market. When Harry had mentioned his ‘customs,’ Tom most certainly was not prepared to spend his holiday sleeping in the middle of the woods. He could hardly deny the boy, however, given that the tradition coincided with his birthday and Harry asked that his gift be Tom’s celebration of the rituals.

Such rituals being, it seemed, spending weeks unclothed in the middle of the woods. The novelty of seeing Harry’s bare body wore off quite quickly once Tom found his own constantly attacked by bugs and scratched by loose branches. He was tempted to cast a spell warding them away, but Harry had prohibited the use of his wand. It ‘went against the purity of their excursion,’ apparently. Tom had attempted to attain revenge by pressing his body against Harry’s at any given moment, in hopes of flustering the boy. Alas, apart from a slight blush, Harry simply accepted the acts with happiness and nuzzled back eagerly. Tom noted that the forest had a calming effect on the boy, instilling him with confidence.

As much as Tom enjoyed seeing Harry proud of his customs, it did not change the fact that Tom was growing gradually more weary by the day. Every evening, for example, Harry insisted that they bathe in the lake. The purpose was not simply to keep clean, but to ‘cleanse the significant other using the water of the forest.’ As… _wonderful_ as that sounded, it did not change the fact that despite being summer, the lake was freezing cold. Every time, Tom stared with incredulity at how Harry was seemingly unaffected by the temperature and dove in with ease. Tom spent approximately fifteen minutes easing his body in, all while hugging his body tightly in a weak attempt of retaining warmth. The fact that Harry only smiled indulgently while he did so was not much of a motivator.

Nonetheless, seeing Harry so happy every time he washed Tom’s hair, hearing Harry laugh heartily as Tom complained about the cold and shivered was—it was worth any sacrifice Tom could possibly make.

The boy was sixteen now and his body had matured accordingly. Tom found himself constantly resisting the pulls of arousal he felt whenever he saw the half-veela. Tom had promised himself not to act on anything sexual until Harry was of age, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with the boy being so _responsive_ , shuddering from even a simple kiss. Worst of all, Harry was seemingly indifferent towards their age difference, urging Tom to consummate their relationship further at every opportunity.

And, well, when you have a half-veela boy, one you are in love with no less, determined to seduce you, it is hard not to succumb to temptation… After all, the boy was already naked, and to see the water droplets slowly trail down from his hair to his perk pink nipples to his thin waist was—practically too much to bear.

Nonetheless, Tom was nothing if not a man of control, and one more year to wait in order to fully take Harry was… within his capabilities.

And if Tom were being honest with himself, Harry’s rituals were—satisfying, in a way. Tom was not a religious or spiritual man by any means, but as he and Harry spent their days in the forest, magic seemed to envelop them warmly. Harry was certain that it was a sign their love was being acknowledged and although Tom was skeptical, there was perhaps some truth in it. After all, he had read about soulmates in the past, and if it were real… Harry could be no one but the other half of his soul.

As such, spending the rest of their summer in the forest was not much of a hardship at all. When they finally arrived back home, Tom even slightly missed the feel of soil on his bare feet. Harry, too, was a bit bittersweet about leaving their makeshift camp behind. Tom was reminded of just how much Harry had sacrificed—leaving behind his veela traditions and lifestyle in order to live with Tom in the town.

Tom brought Harry’s hand up to his lips and kissed it gently. “If there are any winter traditions you know of, I would be more than happy to celebrate them.”

Harry teared up slightly, watery smile wobbling, and the love and devotion in his eyes made Tom fall for him all over again. He kissed Harry’s cheeks slowly, licking up the salty remains of his tears. Oh, how he loved him so.

* * *

Going back to school, Harry was immediately pulled aside by Dumbledore. He was barraged by countless questions from the headmaster, ranging from ‘did you eat properly’ to ‘did anyone attempt to murder you.’

Harry was flattered by the man’s concern, really, but he was tired of the man’s insistent pampering, as if Harry were a young boy in need of protection.

“Merlin, I’m fine, Headmaster. Other than an incident with Nagini, nothing was out of the order,” Harry said, while jerking his shoulder away from the man’s grasp.

“Nagini?” he asked in confusion. Harry could feel her slightly wiggle around his neck, still remaining hidden.

“She’s my snake—mine and Tom’s. We had a bit of an incident over the summer where she hurt me, on accident!” he assured hastily. “Anyways, it’s all taken care of.”

Dumbledore was silent for a bit before speaking. “How severe was the injury?”

“It was—” Harry was about to say ‘not that bad,’ but stopped at Dumbledore’s stern gaze. “Slightly bad. She’s venomous, so the poison spread a bit. She was resting on my shoulders when she suddenly had some sort of, fit, I guess, and bit me on my back between my shoulder blades. Tom was there to calm Nagini and heal the injury, though, so it was all right.”

Harry was determined to have this trail of conversation end quickly, eager to return to his dorms, but Dumbledore seemed to have other thoughts. His lips were set in a grim line.

“Are you aware, Harry, that Tom is a parselmouth?” he said, with such a tone of graveness that Harry found his hackles raising.

“Yes?” he intoned sharply. “Is there a problem with that, _sir?_ ”

Dumbledore hesitated before continuing, firmly, “You said your snake had a fit, yes? Acted out of character? If it is a strange occurrence for her to attack you, is it not possible she was… encouraged?”

Realizing immediately what Dumbledore was implying, Harry felt fierce bursts of anger beginning to well inside him.

“ _Actually_ , sir, _Tom_ was the one who calmed Nagini and _Tom_ was the one who healed my injuries. I don’t know what kind of vendetta you have against him, but if you think you can just imply that he would _hurt_ me while I just stand here and—”

“It’s not like that, Harry—”

“It _is_ like that! You’ve had a grudge against Tom since day one! What the hell is your problem?”

Harry was seething by now, feelings of upset overcoming his senses.

“Harry, you need to calm down, if you get overwhelmed—”

“I will _calm down_ once you explain yourself, Headmaster.”

Harry stared firmly at Dumbledore, who seemed to be conflictedly deliberating something. Finally, he sighed deeply, resigned.

“Perhaps it is time for you to know,” he simply said.

Ignoring Harry’s sounds of confusion, Dumbledore summoned his patronus and whispered a message, promptly sending the wispy white phoenix away to deliver it. He was silent for a time and Harry tapped his leg impatiently, not knowing what the man was waiting for. Finally, the silence was broken by the door to the headmaster’s office opening.

“Professor Hartley,” Harry said, surprised.

“Harry,” the professor nodded, voice slightly strained.

Hartley avoided eye-contact with the boy, much as he usually did, instead focusing his gaze onto Dumbledore.

“Is there an issue, Headmaster?” the man rasped awkwardly, seemingly nervous at being so close to Harry in an enclosed area.

Dumbledore stared at him, as if trying to convey something of importance, a secret only the two of them shared exchanged in a glance.

“I think, James, it is time to tell Harry the truth.”

Hartley jerked back at the name, gulping harshly and shaking his head.

“No,” he said shakily.

“You must, James. It is your responsibility. He is mature enough to know.”

Hartley paced around the room then, hand rifting through his hair roughly, until he finally stopped directly in front of Harry. He hesitated for a few seconds more, expression strained, before finally his face and hair morphed (a glamour?) into a man with messy black hair and hazel eyes.

The man bared an uncanny resemblance to Harry’s own features and Harry found himself staring in confusion while attempting to piece together the information he was given.

Messy black hair. Face not so different from his own. James.

_James, James, James._

Finally, it clicked.

Harry reared back, disgust rising inside him in waves.

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?” Harry spat, decorum lost in the face of _James, his father, James_ , standing in front of him.

“Harry—” James choked out, reaching for him, before Harry slapped his hand away.

“ _Explain_ ,” he growled.

The man cleared his throat, mouth sounding parched. “There’s—Oh, Harry, there’s so much to say, so much you don’t know, but I love you, you understand? You have to understand that’s the most important thing. It was all for you, in the end.”

“Oh, _stop_ it with the blabbering and just tell me what the hell is going on here,” Harry said harshly. “Because last my mother and I knew, you were missing, likely _dead_.”

“No—It’s,” his _father’s_ face twisted. “She knew. Lily, she knew—”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Harry, there’s so much to explain—”

“Then fucking _explain_ already,” Harry nearly shouted, frustration laced within his voice, tears prickling in his eyes at the incredulity of it all.

James paced for a while longer, stress clear in his eyes, before pulling a chair aside and sitting in front of Harry.

“You were born, yes? And Lily and I loved you immensely,” he began, speaking so quickly that his words practically melted together. “But Albus—there was a prophecy he knew of, from Trelawney, about a Dark Lord and—Tom, your Tom, Merlin, not _your_ Tom, but Tom Riddle—he knew it was about him. And the other in the prophecy, the equal, it could only be you or—or Neville, but that doesn’t matter. We didn’t want to risk it, Harry, you understand?

“And I had to watch over him, yeah? Dumbledore trusted me to watch over him, and we couldn’t risk your life Harry, couldn’t risk him finding out it was you so—so I glamoured myself and, and sent you and Lily away, so you could be safe. It was all so you’d be safe, Harry, you see? Can you see, Harry?”

The man was practically begging by now, face contorted with desperation, and he had slipped from the chair to kneel in front of Harry.

Harry was silent, throat dry, unable to compose any words—could barely compose any thoughts. His mind was a mess. A prophecy? Between him and Tom, was that it? And they thought Tom was a—a Dark Lord? And Harry his… equal? What the _hell_ did that mean?

“Harry—” James began, reaching out, before Harry slashed the arms approaching him instinctively. His claws had come out without him noticing. The wings beneath his skin squirmed insistently—or was that just Nagini? Harry couldn’t tell, he couldn’t _think_.

He stood up abruptly and began slowly backing up towards the exit. He had to leave, he had to go to Tom, _his_ Tom. Once he reached the door, he ran, ignoring the shouts of both Dumbledore and his father.

Tom, Tom, _Tom_.

He bumped into Luna, harshly, on the way to Tom’s office.

“Sorry—” he started, quickly moving aside, barely recognizing her in his haste. 

“Harry,” she breathed out. “Oh, _Harry_.”

Her voice was choked, filled with a grief he had never heard from her before.

"Luna?" 

“You will burn, Harry, and there is nothing any of us can do to stop it.”

Harry’s face crumpled and he pushed her away, continuing to run through the hallway. His ears were ringing and his fingers were clenched so hard in his palms that his claws pierced the skin. Rivulets of blood fell to the floor.

_You will burn, Harry._

_And there is nothing any of us can do to stop it._


	10. Chapter 10

Dumbledore saw in him Gellert from the beginning. His passive cruelty, his cold eyes, his sharp but dangerous wit… From the moment Dumbledore met Tom at the orphanage, he was put on edge. The headmaster considered himself a kind man—one who saw the good in people—but whenever he spoke with Tom, all he wanted to do was—what? End the child’s life before the evil he knew the boy held inside him blossomed? Dumbledore was not a cruel man, but he entertained the possibility of wringing the boy’s neck, of watching his red (the color of hell-fire, no?) eyes drain of their lust for the dark, replaced with the cold, empty haze of death…

Nonetheless, Dumbledore could not bring himself to kill a child, no matter how much he thirsted for it. He would simply watch, waiting for the boy’s eventual descent into savagery. It took a toll on his mind, sometimes, to be so obsessed with the shadow he saw lurking behind the boy. No one else suspected; Tom was an honor student in the eyes of others. He had been looked down upon in the beginning, his blood status unknown, but no one was able to deny the pure genius the boy held in magic—he was not only intelligent and studious, but inherently talented in his prowess.

Not even James supported Dumbledore in his hatred of the boy. James Potter was Dumbledore’s right-hand man, a man he would trust with his life. He was with Dumbledore when they first met Tom at Wool’s Orphanage, but other than a wariness at the boy’s words, James showed no distrust towards his nature. Dumbledore thought perhaps he was a bit blinded, having birthed a child of his own not too long ago. Three years old, Harry Potter was the whole of James’ world, along with his wife, Lily. They were both his students, long ago, and he was even witness to the wedding when Lily decided to elope with James after graduation.

He had gotten soft, Dumbledore mused. The two of them had fought side-by-side in the past, ruthlessly cutting down Gellert’s ranks, and yet now the man was hesitant in displaying even the slightest proclivities towards killing. Lily’s gentle veela nature was a negative influence, perhaps. If Tom was, as Dumbledore suspected, the next Dark Lord of their age, Dumbledore would need his assets to be strong and rugged, not kind-spoken and delicate.

James gave in to Dumbledore’s pestering eventually, for he trusted him with all he had. He had been spending his time at home to watch over his new-born, but as the infant was growing healthily and steadily, he was not averse to taking the teaching position Dumbledore had offered. It would be Tom’s second year, no doubt when the boy would begin gathering allies to his side. At Dumbledore’s insistence, James was glamoured—it would be a terrible shame if Tom went after James’ family after his rise to power. For now, he and Dumbledore would watch over the boy intently, readying themselves to kill the weed by pulling it from its very roots when necessary.

* * *

James was dubious in the beginning, regarding Dumbledore’s suspicions towards Tom Riddle. He was only a boy, after all, and surely someone so young could not hold within him so dark a nature as Dumbledore insisted he had? And yet the more James observed him, the more… _off_ he felt. As if the boy was incapable of feeling the emotions he demonstrated, and he was simply playing the part. He had begun to understand Dumbledore’s words—the boy was seemingly a prefect to others, and yet he always had something _lurking_ in his eyes. The promise of delivered cruelty to anyone who did not abide to his whim.

James was a dangerous man in the past, during the war, but he felt his heart had thawed with the birth of his child. Harry… He would do anything for his son, and it had made him softer of a man. And yet, it was this very same love for Harry that had somehow spurred James to distrust Tom. For if Tom was truly the Dark Lord Dumbledore suspected him of becoming, then was it not James’ responsibility to protect his child at any cost? He had grown up with the terror that Grindelwald might rise to power and James would stop at nothing to prevent Harry from experiencing that same fear.

So James, as time went on, became more and more antagonistic towards the boy. He felt guilty, at first, at his passive aggressive nature towards the boy. But as his suspicions raised, he could not prevent his harsh words from coming out.

‘Wandering so late at night, Riddle? Couldn’t sleep perhaps? Nightmares of the _orphanage_ haunting you?’

‘Oh, are your friends not with you, Riddle? Oh, sorry, not friends—people like you don’t have friends, after all. Henchmen, perhaps?”

Tom had seemed hurt at first, pain flashing in his eyes (surely another act of deception from the boy), but soon his gaze had hardened and his words towards James— _Professor Hartley_ —became clipped and dripping with disdain.

‘Do you _enjoy_ verbally abusing young boys, Professor? Do you _get_ _off_ on it?’

‘Stalking me again, Hartley? I must say, I’m not interested. Save your depravity for your dear Dumbledore, hm?’

As the years passed, the relationship between the two was irreparable. James could hardly remember a time of seeing Tom without _hatred_ rolling off him in waves. He had dehumanized the boy, eventually. For James was still moral, and how could he hate a child? But Tom was not a child in James’ eyes anymore. No, he was a monster—inhumane and incapable of love.

Oh, the feeling of _vindication_ when James found Tom attempting to open the Chamber of Secrets. He did not hesitate to hex the boy, the spell cutting into his skin harshly. Tom had dropped to the floor with a cry, clutching at his chest as the blood soaked his shirt. James ended the curse quickly—it was a spell used in times of war, to kill—and felt a strange sense of guilt when Tom looked up at him with tears in his eyes.

But no—he could not feel guilty. For he was right, no? The boy spoke parseltongue, wanted to open the Chamber… He was surely not a boy at all, simply a beast in disguise.

James recounted the events to Dumbledore and the Chamber of Secrets was sealed.

Perhaps, a piece of Tom’s heart was sealed as well.

* * *

Lily was not blind to the change in James’ nature. His eyes gradually hardened and he was reluctant to speak of his teaching job. He was kind to Harry and Lily, of course, his eyes warming at the very sight of them. Yet even the slightest mention of Tom Riddle brought out a cold man Lily hardly recognized.

Could the boy truly be so dark and malicious so as to corrupt even Lily’s loving husband? Lily was strong—she would not hesitate to fight for her child’s life—but she found herself wondering if Tom Riddle truly deserved the hate both James and Dumbledore inflicted on him. But it was not her business, in the end. She had Harry to protect and she had nothing of herself to spare for an orphan boy with a tendency towards cruelty.

She always knew events would climax eventually—she felt in the marrow of her bones that things would not remain peaceful in her family forever. And so when Dumbledore came to her speaking of a prophecy, she was not surprised.

“There is only one that can be the Dark Lord Trelawney spoke of, and I am glad that both James and I have been watching over him. Yet there is a second part—of the Dark Lord’s vanquisher. It is said that he would be born as the seventh month dies. There are only two children who match the prophecy, Lily. Neville Longbottom, and your son, Harry Potter.”

Lily had listened to the man intently and silently. She was not scared, nor worried. She was confident that she would protect Harry, even if it took her life in the process.

_either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_

Dumbledore was eager to help raise Harry—to train him as a warrior. Lily was never fond of the man, even during her school days, and his pleading to encourage Harry to fight Tom Riddle only exacerbated her distrust of the man. Lily cared naught for the future of the wizarding world—she cared only for the life of her son. James sided with Dumbledore in the beginning, but at Lily’s fury he conceded that nothing was worth the risk of Harry’s life. Dumbledore seemed weary and disappointed, but it was of no significance to Lily.

She would take him to her camp—her family would welcome her with open arms. The magic protecting her village was strong and she trusted it would protect them. She had learned much at Hogwarts, and she would bring the knowledge to her kin. Veela magic was wandless by nature, and wands were a rarity. She would implement a variation of the trace—if someone were to attack the camp, as long as Lily was alive to hold the magic, their wand signature could be traced. Precautions would be taken and Lily was confident in the safety of her home.

James could not come with her. She had begged he come, Harry needed a father, but James said it was his duty to prevent Tom from gaining strength. ‘Everything is for Harry,’ he had insisted. Lily had been losing a piece of her husband every year he went back to teach at Hogwarts, but it was only at that moment she realized how much.

She took Harry, then, leaving James behind. She would spoil the boy, give him more love than even two parents could provide. Harry was important to her in a way nothing else was and she would _die_ protecting him. If love was the most powerful force, then nothing could ever beat Lily’s love for her son.

_‘Oh, Harry, may no harm ever befall you, my darling.’_


	11. Chapter 11

Harry did not interact with James for the rest of the semester. The man taught Charms and it was a class Harry did not much miss when skipping. Detention was an easy burden compared to having to face the man who left him and his mother behind.

For that is what he did, ultimately. Harry tried to rationalize his actions, for he knew he was prone to seeing situations through the heart and not the mind. Yet no matter how he looked at it, Harry could not find it in himself to forgive James. He was a father and yet he valued the words of a vague prophecy over staying with his own son and wife. If his wish was truly to protect him, would he not simply come with Lily to stay in the village? In Harry’s eyes, James was caught up in the throes of misguided principles—too caught up in trying to be the ‘hero’ to treasure the things he found important.

And Harry tried not to feel sorrow; for his whole life, he had assumed his father was dead. To know that he was alive and simply… disappointing, was surely an easier burden to bear, no? And yet Harry found his heart clenching whenever he passed ‘Professor Hartley’ in the halls. What a complicated thing it was to long for a man you have given up on.

It was such that Harry found comfort in going back home for the holidays. It was bittersweet before—to leave behind his home at Hogwarts to arrive back at his home with Tom. And yet this winter all Harry felt upon arriving at the manor was sweet relief; James had ruined the sanctity of Hogwarts for him.

Tom, of course, was a comfort nothing could explain. He did not tell Tom the information he was given; Harry had heard the man complain about Professor Hartley before. Tom seemed to hate him with an intensity Harry rarely saw shown so openly and Harry was afraid that if he learned the truth of the man’s relation to Harry, he would grow to become similarly distasteful of the boy’s company. There was the matter of the prophecy, as well, and Harry knew Tom did not need more reasons to act cruel.

So Harry stayed silent, instead treasuring the dear moments he held with Tom. He was struck every year by just how beautiful the man looked in the snow. His hair was pitch black and the small specks of snow adorning it almost seemed to give the man a halo, although Harry knew the man was anything but an angel. The man’s dislike of snow also made him more prone to nuzzle up to Harry, something that made Harry smile to the point of soreness in his cheeks.

He was excited, this year, to finally give his lover (and it felt strange, to Harry, to refer to Tom as such, yet what else could they possibly be?) a worthy gift for his birthday. He had worked on it in secret for several months. Harry first gained inspiration from the gift Tom gave him a few years ago: a silver bracelet wrapping along his wrist in the form of a serpent. Harry learned eventually that it was not simply jewelry—for of course Tom would never be so simple—but that it was enchanted to ward away harm. Harry would not be surprised to learn it had a tracking charm engraved in it as well.

And Harry similarly wanted to give Tom a present that he could keep with him, one that would protect him and keep him safe. So the first thing Harry did was steal one of Tom’s precious artifacts.

And it was… strange, perhaps, to steal a gift only to give it back, but Harry wanted to ensure the jewelry he gave was one of significance to Tom, not simply a trinket from the market. Tom had spoken to Harry before of his relation to Salazar Slytherin, and thus is why Harry stole Slytherin’s locket from the glass case Tom kept it in. Tom had no family, he scorned the idea, but Harry knew he treasured the small link he had to his heritage.

And if family could be said to be one of the strongest connections one can have, then Harry was family, of sorts. Perhaps that is why the term ‘lover’ was so strange for him, because Harry was _more_ than that, ultimately. They were each other’s everything, deliciously co-dependent on each other in a way that was inherently unhealthy yet maddeningly addicting. You could say they were soulmates, perhaps.

Harry stole the locket and when opening it knew it would be empty. Lockets typically held items of sentimental value, photographs or locks of hair, and Harry knew Tom grew up without being able to hold anything dear to his heart. It was Harry’s greatest desire to ensure the man never knew loneliness again.

So first he put in a photograph; the muggle one they took last winter. It still warmed Harry’s heart to see it, for the love the two held for each other was clear even in the confines of a motionless photo. He cast a quick Reducio for it to fit in the small locket and eased it in slowly, careful to not wrinkle the image. Tom would wear the locket around his neck, able to open it up at any moment and feel comfort in the fact that he was no longer alone.

But that was still not enough, for Harry longed to ease not only Tom’s mental burdens, but his physical ones as well. So he put in a lock of hair as well, one of his own. Harry was well aware of how powerful veela hair could be; it was the very thing that got his family killed, after all. Harry plucked one of his hairs and charmed it so that it would engrave itself in the very core of the locket; he cast spells to ensure the magic it provided was protective—that it would not only ward away danger but that it would blend with Tom’s own magic, strengthening it. The lock was ultimately made of Harry’s self and to know that if Tom wore the locket, his magic would constantly be wrapping itself along Harry’s own was—an unexplainable happiness. It was like being connected to Tom in a fundamental way, one that transcended even the need for their physical presence. For even without their bodies, their intertwined magic would surge through the air and the earth alike.

And Harry was perhaps just a bit smug over how clever his gift was. Would Tom cry, he wondered? It was a sight the boy was yet to see and it would be a lie if he were to say he never hoped to witness it. But it was early, only the beginning of winter, and though Harry was impatient he made sure to hide his eagerness for Tom’s birthday.

For now he contented himself with enjoying the snow with Tom, even though the man so strongly hated the cold. He asked Harry if there were any winter rituals he wanted to partake in, and Harry grinned cheekily when saying that making snowmen was of the utmost important in his village.

So Tom, although exasperatedly, ultimately spent the day with Harry building figures of wizards, ones that seemed outrageously silly and Harry quickly found out neither of the two had any talents in the artistic department.

They made snow-angels as well, both of them glancing at the wings they made with a strange sense of melancholy, knowing that Harry’s own would cause him only pain. But any feelings of sadness were quickly wiped away when Harry shoved snow down Tom’s shirt, insisting they have a snowball fight. He felt just slightly guilty when goosebumps emerged all over Tom’s body as the snow trickled down his back, but it was drowned by his heart pumping rapidly as he ran away from Tom’s barrage of snowballs rushing at him. The man had no mercy and Harry was soon toppled over by the sheer force of the snow, laughing when Tom himself tackled Harry to the ground. They stayed there then for a while, soaking up each other’s contact through the multiple layers they wore.

“You’re like a child, you know that?” Tom grumbled out, although Harry knew by the small quirk of his lips he was enjoying himself.

And Harry was ready to tease back but was stopped suddenly by a strange sort of longing. “Hey, Tom, would you ever want kids?”

Tom’s body jolted slightly in shock, and before he could answer Harry quickly spoke over him.

“I mean, that’s not like—some secret veela power,” he laughed out, a bit embarrassed. “Men can’t give birth, but—would you still want some? With me? I know you dislike family and the only one you value is the blood connection you share with Slytherin, but would you hate it? A child we raised not of our own kin?”

Tom’s eyes looked into Harry’s then with an expression he couldn’t decipher but was undeniably fond.

“Oh, Harry,” he said, gently wiping a lock of hair away from Harry’s eyes to behind his ear. “If there is one thing I have learned in my life, it is that blood is hardly important in a family. I… struggle with love, and raising a child would no doubt be strange for me, but… to start a family with you, to nurture a life with your love enveloping us both would be—a pleasure. Truly.”

Harry grinned so strongly his face ached and his eyes slightly teared up. Harry thought that it was quite unfair Tom kept seeing him crying when Harry never saw the same. Even so, nothing could stop the happiness overflowing from Harry at that moment. He held Tom close to him and even though it was snowing, the two of them could hardly feel the snow at all.

* * *

If Tom needed more reasons to hate the cold, the fact that Harry got sick from it would surely be enough to make him hate winter for the rest of his life. He enjoyed the other day strongly; Harry looked beautiful in the snow and to spend hours simply carelessly fooling around in the cold was a happiness Tom never thought he could enjoy. Is that why he was being punished?

Tom knew he was overexaggerating; he had the mediwizard come over as soon as he felt Harry’s fever and was assured it was a simple case of the cold. Yet seeing Harry bedridden brought such immense pain to Tom that he could not help but berate himself for not paying enough attention to the boy’s health.

“It looks like you’re in more pain than I am,” Harry laughed out nasally as Tom gripped his hand strongly from the side of the bed.

“Harry…” Tom croaked out, hoarsely. “Oh, Harry, I don’t know what I would do without you. You can’t leave me, Harry, you _can’t_.”

Harry smiled softly at that and held Tom’s body against his small frame, rubbing his hands over Tom’s body soothingly.

“It’s okay, Tom, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” he said gently, repeating it every so often until Tom’s body stopped shaking.

Tom knew it was embarrassing of him to react so strongly; to be the one comforted and eased by the sick one of the two. Yet he could not help feeling paralyzed by even the slightest indication that Harry’s health was not well.

He calmed down eventually, nudging his nose against Harry’s neck and taking comfort in that he could feel the boy’s pulse steadily beating.

“Oh!” Harry gasped out. “Tom, it’s your birthday today, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, I’ve been so sick that I forgot.”

“It hardly matters,” Tom whispered, still snuggling with Harry on the bed. “As long as you become better, all is well.”

“It _does_ matter! I got you a present,” Harry pouted slightly. “Scooch over a bit, I’ve been keeping it in my bedside drawer.”

Tom was reluctant to part with the boy but at his insistence let him crawl over to the drawer and gently pull out a locket.

“Is that…” Tom began, eyes furrowed. “Is that my locket? Harry, did you steal Slytherin’s locket from me?”

“Um—well, kind of?” Harry grimaced slightly. “I promise it’ll make sense when you open it.”

Tom took the locket from Harry’s hands and opened it slowly, only to have his breath catch in his throat.

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” he got out, at a loss for words.

“Ta-da!” Harry exclaimed cheerily. “Happy birthday! I also engraved a lock of my hair so it has all these cool magical protections in it. Like the bracelet you gave me but _even cooler_.”

Tom pulled Harry into his arms, embracing him tightly.

“I love you,” he rasped out, wondering how he could have ever hesitated about saying it before. There was nothing surer in his mind than the fact he loved Harry Potter with every single molecule in his body. “I love you so much, Harry. You are my very _soul_. ”

Harry melted under his words but pushed slightly at his chest. “Let me put in on you, yeah?”

Tom nodded and he felt Harry’s arms brush against his skin as he secured the locket behind Tom’s neck. As soon as the weight of it hit his chest, he instantly felt a surge of heat—the feeling of Harry’s magic gently enveloping him.

“Harry,” he breathed out. “Oh, Harry, I can _feel_ you, your very essence. It’s so warm, Harry.”

Harry’s smile was so delicate and finally, _finally_ Tom’s fractured heart felt fully whole.

Harry felt sleepy, the cold overtaking his senses, and as Tom tucked him into bed he pushed his hair back and placed a soft kiss on the center of his forehead.

“I will protect you, Harry, until the very end,” he promised.

And nothing, not even fate itself, would stop him.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry could feel James’ longing glances every time they passed by each other. It filled Harry with an acute sense of guilt; for he knew the man _did_ love him. Was Harry being unreasonable? Was he pushing too much expectation on a man who, although misguidedly, did all he could to protect Harry? A man who, at the same time Harry lost his mother, lost his wife?

It was because of these thoughts that Harry didn’t resist when James cornered him one day and pulled him away to his office.

“We have to talk, Harry,” the man said determinedly.

Harry nodded silently, throat clenching and unable to make a sound. It was only when they were in the privacy of James’ office that Harry felt his body loosening up, taking comfort in Nagini’s steady slither over his skin. James seemed to struggle with words, constantly opening his mouth as if to speak yet no words coming out.

“I love you,” he choked out, eyes burning with unshed tears and jaw firm with regret. “Harry, Merlin, I love you so much. And I know I’ve made my mistakes, I know you’re disappointed, but you’re the only thing I have left in this world.” And at the last words his voice cracked, tears finally running down his face, his arms coming up to hide his shame.

At that Harry’s heart broke and the boy rushed over to the man, hugging him tightly. James instantly wrapped his arms around the boy, embracing him with every ounce of strength he had left. Harry’s face was pushed into the man’s chest and any remnants of disappointment were washed away, replaced by the sheer _comfort_ of being in his father’s arms. Harry breathed in and how could he explain it? He had never been lonely for his father as a child, and yet now, having him and knowing this man would love him unconditionally, filled him with a sense of contentment he was unable to put into words. As if a part of him that was slightly broken was subtly mended together.

Harry felt his own eyes starting to water and tried to hold them back but knew it was hopeless. Soon, the two of them were sobbing in each other’s arms, silent except for the rasping breaths they took in between their tears.

Harry knew James had made his mistakes, that he had been unjust not only to him, but to Tom. But if Harry had forgiven Tom’s easy cruelty, could he not do the same for James? Harry was not one to hold grudges, not one who was capable of holding hate in his heart. And so the decision to forgive James and _love_ him was all too easy to make.

Once they pulled apart, Harry looked upon James’ watery smile and felt as if it was the first time he saw the man truly happy. They spent the rest of the day finally talking, sharing stories of themselves, of Lily. James was more than happy to share stories of how fierce she was in her teens, how she had captivated his heart from the first time he saw her. And Harry similarly shared how Lily was strong, how she kept the village together with her love and ferocity combined. It was a comfort like no other to Harry to know that there was someone else who knew of this beautiful woman, someone he could exchange memories with in fondness. The pain was slightly easier to bear with someone else and Harry knew that if Lily’s soul was lingering on Earth, it would finally be at ease knowing that her son and husband were together once again.

* * *

Tom was no stranger to Harry’s happiness; it overflowed whenever the boy was with him. Yet he noticed immediately when he saw the boy one day and was _different_ , had a sense of contentment previously unseen. It angered him slightly for he knew it was not him that gave Harry such a sense of happiness. Was it that Luna child, perhaps? Tom knew Harry was close with the girl. Regardless, Tom decided not to question it just yet, for he did not want to dampen the boy’s mood.

It was only in the summer, during their train ride home, that he inquired about Harry’s change of mood. Immediately, Harry seemed to brighten, seemingly excited to share, until the boy glanced at Tom’s eyes and seemed to dampen. It was only at Tom’s insistent prodding that the boy finally confessed the truth.

Professor Hartley was his father, and the two of them had made up.

Not many things in Tom’s life left him speechless, but this revelation was certainly one of those. Professor Hartley was… perhaps the one person in his life he hated more than Dumbledore himself. He had relentlessly agitated Tom when he was but a child, even going as far as to slash Tom’s chest open. At that point in his life, Tom was certain he would die, bleeding out on the stone steps of the girl’s bathroom.

And then to find out that this man was the father of his beloved was… shocking. It did not change how he felt about the boy, of course, the fact that Harry was his one true love in the world would remain unchanged. It was simply a fact he would need to get used to; especially given that Harry’s recent happiness was due to this very same man. He was lost in his thoughts for a while, only being snapped out of them by Harry tentatively grabbing his shirt sleeve and looking at him with teary eyes.

“Tom?” he whispered worriedly.

“Oh, Harry,” he gushed out, quickly grabbing the boy and laying him across his lap, embracing him fully. “Why are you crying?”

“Because,” the boy sniffed out. “I know you hate Professor Hartley and now that you know he’s my father—”

“Harry,” Tom interrupted sternly. “You have to understand that there is nothing in this world that would make me think less of you. I love you, and that will never change.”

“Really?” Harry breathed out hopefully.

“Really. I was simply getting my thoughts in order, especially given the inevitability of you becoming closer to the man as time goes on. I will have to prepare for the eventual dinner parties.”

Harry choked out a laugh. “I don’t think I trust the two of you anywhere near each other, especially not during dinner. You’ll end up stabbing each other with forks.”

“Yes, well,” Tom kissed the top of Harry’s head as the boy nuzzled into him further, “I suppose that’s why we have you to keep the two of us civil.”

And Harry was so happy then, so overflowing with joy, that Tom could hardly begin to care about his animosity with Hartley. For this boy, he would do anything.

So much had changed in Tom’s life after meeting Harry, so much hatred washed away by love and devotion. When the two of them arrived back home for the holidays, Tom truly felt… happy. Content.

Harry once again urged Tom to participate in veela rituals with him, this time thankfully allowing them to stay in the manor while doing so (although being barefoot was still a necessity). It was thus how they spent the summer, casually basking in the sun and rejoicing in the bonding magic of Harry’s veela traditions. Eventually Harry’s birthday came to pass and the boy was finally seventeen.

They took advantage of this immediately, of course, neither one of them able to control their passion and lust once Harry was finally of age. The entire day was spent in bed, Tom constantly layering kisses upon Harry’s skin and taking him over and over again. Any hesitance towards being too rough with the boy was erased by the half-veela insistently begging for more.

Face-to-face was the favorite for both of them, neither of them looking away from the other’s eyes when doing so. Tom would place his hands on Harry’s shoulder blades, tenderly supporting him by holding him up, all the while whispering that he could feel Harry’s wings gently pumping underneath his fingertips.

It was thus that they achieved ecstasy, consummating their love in the throes of passion. They had always been one in spirit, in soul, in magic; now they were proudly one in body as well.

* * *

Harry was happy, immensely so. Even the days spent lazing around were filled with a sense of glory at knowing there was no longer any barrier between him and Tom. Finally, the two of them were bound in every sense of the word.

Harry was lying on the grass with Nagini, soaking up the sun, when James apparated nearby. Harry’s happiness only grew, excited to spend part of his holiday with the man he had accepted as his father. Tom was currently busy with work, but perhaps the two of them could finally meet once he was done; this time as father and suitor rather than professor and pupil.

Harry greeted his father amicably, although he was quickly confused by the conflicted expression on James’ face.

“Harry…” James began hesitantly. “Would you mind walking with me for a bit?”

Harry agreed, of course, and the two of them ended up wandering around the outskirts of the nearby forest, not too far from Harry’s old home.

They passed the time chatting casually until James finally stopped and gazed at Harry firmly.

“Harry… Would you like to find out who attacked the veela camp?” he asked determinedly, eyes locked with Harry’s own.

Harry’s mouth felt dry. “Is that… possible? Tom and I examined the camp and there was no evidence left; it was all burned down.”

“Yes,” James nodded. “But Lily… she had wards up, when she was alive. They worked similar to the Trace, where any wand used could be identified. It was lost when she was killed, but Dumbledore and I have been working with Unspeakables to see if there was any way to analyze it. They managed to come up with a spell where if there is any of Lily’s magic lingering past her death, it might be usable. I came to you as soon as we finalized the spell.”

“So we can…” Harry swallowed, stomach churning. “We can find out who killed her?”

James grasped Harry’s hand firmly in his own. “If you would prefer to let the past die, I am okay with that. I decided to leave the final choice up to you.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I—I want to know. Should we go… now?”

“The sooner the better,” James affirmed. “It has been several years, so any remnants of Lily’s magic are probably weakening as we speak.”

The two of them stayed silent as Harry led the way to the camp. When he was met with the same destruction and carnage he saw last time, he felt that chasm of darkness inside him open up again. He wished Tom was here with him.

“Alright,” James said resolutely. “I’ll start the spell.”

Harry simply walked around as James cast the magic, ending up crouching near where his mother’s body was last time. So much had changed. How had he lived before Tom? He still had no memories of the attack, and his memories of his life in the village were vague. Tom had taken over every aspect of his life.

“I knew it!” James growled out savagely, causing Harry to rush over to him.

“What is it? Did you find out who did it?” Harry asked impatiently, heart pounding.

“Yesss,” James hissed out. “It was Tom Riddle, of fucking course it was.”

And at that Harry’s mind went blank.

“…What?” he whispered.

It went unheard by James, who kept pacing around muttering “I knew it” and was ignorant of the chaos unravelling in Harry’s mind.

Harry could see the results of James’ casting, the truth that Lily’s dying magic revealed: Thirteen-and-a-half inches, yew, with a phoenix feather core, performing the spells that burned his village to the ground that very day Harry remembered waking up in the unknown bed belonging to his future lover.

His ears were ringing and his sight was blurry. His hands were bleeding, his veela claws once again piercing his skin.

“I have to tell Dumbledore,” James muttered out.

Harry whipped his head up, vaguely registering the words.

“You can’t,” he rushed out.

“What?” James laughed incredulously. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

Harry’s heart wouldn’t stop pounding. If James told Dumbledore, he would kill Tom. He would… kill Tom.

“You can’t,” he croaked again. Tom was… Tom was…

James’ eyes narrowed. “I know you’re infatuated with the man, Harry, but I’m afraid you can’t stop me.”

James made to apparate, and Harry acted on instinct.

* * *

Tom was troubled in that he could not find Harry anywhere. He had last seen the boy lying on the grass with Nagini when he left to meet with a client, only to return and find the boy gone. He was just about utilize the tracking charm in the boy’s bracelet when he saw Harry walk in through the front door.

“Harry!” Tom exclaimed, rushing over to him. “Where were you—” His words were cut short when he took in the disheveled appearance of the boy. His gaze was downcast, arms cut as if he had run through the forest, and his hands were bleeding. His body was covered in blood, but on a second glance, Tom recognized the majority of it was not his own.

“…Harry?” he said slowly.

Harry finally looked up and at seeing Tom, his eyes widened and he fell to the floor, clutching his body.

“Noooo,” he whined out. “No, no, no, no, no, no.”

“Merlin,” Tom muttered out, quickly bending down and placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry! Harry, what’s wrong?”

Harry only whined louder and huddled into himself further. Tom’s heart was bursting with worry and he quickly gazed into the boy’s mind, recognizing he was in no state to answer. He was then floored with the events from Harry’s memories: James bringing him to the veela camp. James revealing that Tom was the culprit of the genocide. Harry… cutting into James with his bare hands to prevent him from telling Dumbledore the truth. Harry being covered in the blood of his own father. The boy blankly walking back to the manor, unfeeling of the trees scraping his skin on the way back.

Tom was pulled out of Harry’s head by the boy screaming in agony, hands grasping Tom’s arms tightly enough to draw blood. Tom looked up in horror to see Harry’s skin slowly breaking apart to reveal the emergence of grotesque scaly wings. They unfurled slowly, each disgusting joint gradually popping itself out from underneath Harry’s back. They were fleshy and torn, similar to a Thestral’s, and Tom could not help the wave of nausea that rushed through him.

His mind was overwhelmed, burdened by the influx of information, but instinctually he cast a sleeping spell on Harry and rushed to get the nearest knife. Mind blank, he slowly began to cut off the wings from where they were connected to Harry’s body, blood covering his hands in rivulets. The boy screamed even in sleep, so twisted and garbled it was as if it was not Harry’s voice, but that of the wings, crying out in despair.

Tom dropped the knife as soon as the wings fell limply to the ground, withering slightly even when disconnected from their host.

What does he do? What does he do?

Harry knew the truth. What would he do when he woke up? There’s no way the boy could take the strain of not only the knowledge of Tom’s true actions, but that of the guilt from killing his father.

Occlude his mind again? It was a risk, Tom had already damaged so much of Harry’s psyche from hiding the events of the massacre. But there was no other choice.

Tom quickly healed the wounds on Harry back, simultaneously probing into the boy’s head and hiding away the recent events, locking them away in the deepest shadows of Harry’s mind. The boy groaned and Tom’s heart ached painfully. Where had things gone so wrong? Were the two of them destined to suffer?

Tom couldn’t move, could hardly move a muscle in his body, so he stayed on the ground clutching Harry in his arms tightly. Eventually, the boy squirmed and his eyes squinted as he regained consciousness. Gazing into the dull, sparkless eyes of his lover, Tom’s heart dropped as he realized the weight of his consequences.

His Harry was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter to go, and it's even more of a shitstorm than this one OTL
> 
> apologies in advance


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for: depictions of horror and (lots of) angst

“Tom?” Harry called out from the kitchen.

“Hm? What is it, darling?”

“Could you help me cook?”

Tom looked up, noting that Harry had laid out a few ingredients on the counter.

“Harry…” Tom hesitated. “You know I don’t like you in the kitchen anymore.”

“I know!” Harry assured. “Because it’s dangerous and all that—I know. But I miss cooking, so… maybe it’d be okay if you helped me?”

Tom sighed resignedly. “Of course, honey. What would you like to make?”

Harry beamed and the two of them proceeded to cook, Tom doing most of the work while allowing Harry to sprinkle in ingredients into the pot.

After the… ‘incident,’ Harry had gotten—Well, it was difficult for Tom to explain. He was still _Harry_ , fundamentally. Yet there were times he seemed to just… slip. He often lost his train of thought, often cut himself accidentally if using anything sharp. It was as if he was in a state of half-awake every single moment of the day.

Tom was beyond grateful that Harry was still with him, of course. The events of that day could have gone much worse and at the very least he still had Harry in his arms. He did not take that blessing lightly.

Despite that, the most painful part was Harry’s eyes.

It was what allured Tom to the boy from the very beginning—those vibrant, shining green eyes, so full of resilience. Yet now, they seemed dull and… empty. It was as if a part of Harry’s soul had been locked away with his memories.

Tom still loved Harry, nothing could ever change that, but he struggled to make eye contact without extreme waves of regret washing over him. Tom was thankful Harry was always too out of it to notice.

It was a different kind of pain as well to see Harry’s wings—they were a part of Harry, after all, and Tom couldn’t bear to simply toss them away. So he kept them in his office, hung up on display behind his desk as if it was one of his precious artifacts. It was a subtle kind of self-torture for Tom.

Is this what he wanted? That very first day when all he desired from Harry was for him to be another addition to his collection of heirlooms… And now, here were the boy’s wings stuck up on the wall, mocking Tom every time he saw them.

Tom knew he was not innocent, that he had killed many. Yet he thought that with the taste of happiness Harry had given him, he could change, he could learn to be loving. Yet perhaps he deserved it all. Perhaps magic itself was simply taking its revenge on Tom’s cruelty of the past. But it did not pain him to know that he was destined for unhappiness; it pained him to know that he destined Harry to be on the same path.

It was while he was staring at Harry’s wings—brutally grotesque in a way Tom could never get used to—that the boy in question burst into the room.

“Tom,” Harry whined. “Have you seen Nagini?”

“Darling,” Tom smiled indulgently, “she’s right there on your should—”

It was then that magic suddenly surged through the air, knocking the breath out of Tom and stopping him mid-sentence. He regained his breath, only to see Harry, eyes blown wide, staring at his wings mounted on the wall.

Tom internally cursed. How damn stupid could he get? He kept Harry out of his office for a reason.

“Harry, that’s not—”

“Oh, Tom,” Harry cooed in joy, coming up to the wings. “How long were you going to keep this from me?”

“…What?” Tom rasped out.

He watched in horror as Harry’s wings slowly melted in his touch, becoming a sloppy black goo that squirmed as if in agony. Tom was sure if it had a mouth, it would be screaming.

“Tom,” Harry laughed, tilting his head as if he couldn’t tell why Tom was so disgusted. “It’s our child!”

And then the shapeless atrocity slowly started to pull itself together. A mimicry of limbs began to form, dangly and eerily long. The head emerged last, some twisted facsimile of a baby’s skull, skin still pitch black and _oozing_. The mouth of the creature opened and closed but no sound came out other than the squelching sound of its body being built. 

Tom felt bile in his throat.

* * *

“— Come here! Come on — don’t be shy!” Harry called out.

xxx started walking towards him, slowly but surely. Harry’s heart leapt with joy.

“Come to papa! That’s right baby, you’re doing so good.”

Harry couldn’t hold back his happiness. Were Lily and Ja—s also this happy when Harry took his first steps?

Harry grabbed his child as soon as he wobbled within reach. He rubbed the baby’s hair back, black goo dirtying his hand. Harry cooed.

“You did so well, honey. Wanna go show daddy?”

xxx shrieked.

“Tom!” Harry walked around, searching for his lover. He had been seeing less of him, nowadays. Harry remembered Tom’s doubts about being a father. Was he perhaps scared?

Harry’s heart ached. Tom would be a wonderful father, he simply needed reassurance and guidance. Harry was more than happy to give both. Looking around, Harry finally saw Tom in one of the living rooms.

“Tom!” Harry grinned. “— took their first steps today!”

“That’s,” Tom hesitated, voice hoarse and expression looking slightly pained. “That’s great, Harry.”

“Tom?” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

He got closer, only for Tom to quickly back away, looking revolted.

“…Tom?” Harry said worriedly.

Tom shook his head. “I’m just—feeling a bit off, Harry. Don’t mind me.”

“Oh,” Harry got out. “Well, both me and the baby hope you’ll get well soon. Right —?”

xxXXXX giggled and nodded.

Harry started to leave the room, only to suddenly get dizzy and trip. xXXX plopped on the floor, wailing.

“Harry!” Tom yelled, rushing over to his side to help him up. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Harry said weakly. “I just got a bit lightheaded.”

Harry could see Tom biting his lip in worry and reassured him with a light kiss.

“I’m fine,” he smiled. “Maybe the both of us need a rest, yeah?”

Tom nodded reluctantly and left Harry to pick up xXXx from the ground, kissing them on the forehead.

His lips were stained black.

* * *

Tom could hardly breathe in the house. He didn’t know what to do. Merlin, where had things gone so wrong? How was he supposed to remain sane when Harry carried that— _abomination_ —around with him constantly, cooing at it as if it was actually his child.

Tom knew Harry wasn’t as mentally secure as before, yet how could it be possible for him to simply ignore the disgusting residue on his fingers whenever he picked up the monstrosity?

Was it because it was his wings? Tom had his speculations; after all, they were composed purely of Harry’s magic. Perhaps after they were cut off, they were forced to take on another form after coming into contact with their host again. Any form that was necessary in order to… get closer to Harry and steal his magic.

Tom knew from the beginning that Harry was not simply having dizzy spells; Tom made sure the boy was healthy at all times. It was only when Harry’s health started rapidly decreasing that he connected the dots.

Harry’s ‘child’ was stealing his life energy.

For that was what Dumbledore said the wings would do, no? Tom was a fool to think simply cutting them off would be enough.

Once he figured it out, it was impossible not to notice the way the child was gradually becoming stronger, fleshy skin strengthening and elongating, while Harry was becoming drowsier as the days went by.

Tom knew he would have to kill it, of course, but the problem was _how_. Harry would hardly let the child out of his sight.

Tom tried, once, to simply grab the beast from Harry’s hands and get it over with. Yet Harry screeched with such agony and woe that Tom couldn’t go through with it, dropping the _thing_ onto the ground while Harry rushed to pick it up.

“If you _ever_ ,” Harry hissed out, no trace of love in his eyes, “try to harm my child again, I will not kill _you_ , Tom. I will kill _myself_ and leave you alone for the rest of your life.”

Harry forgot about the events the next day and sprinkled kisses on Tom’s cheeks. Tom wished he could throw away his sanity because in exchange for keeping it he was becoming broken.

Nagini was nowhere to be found until recently, when she slithered into the backyard to look at Harry. The beast got to her and slowly started pulling her apart, ripping her beautiful scales until nothing was left but a fleshy carcass. Harry simply watched, smiling. Tom could still hear Nagini’s dying screams ringing in his ears.

Tom knew what he had to do. At this point, could Harry’s mind even break any further? If Harry died…

Perhaps that would be a mercy.

But no, Tom would damn magic itself before allowing Harry’s life to perish.

So he lay Harry to sleep with a spell, slowly and methodically locking away the boy’s memories.

He turned to the creature sitting nearby, watching Tom’s actions coolly.

Did it know, Tom wondered? How much sentience did this revolting monstrosity hold within itself?

Tom cast a spell and watched as the deformation burned, entire being contorted in pain. There was no sound and all that was left was ashes.

Tom left a kiss upon the top of Harry’s head and began to prepare.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes slowly, instantly meeting the face of his lover.

“To-om,” he got out.

His mouth felt

heavy.

“To

-om?”

His mind felt… strange. To-om?

“It’s alright, Harry,” the man cooed, petting Harry’s hair. Everything was fuzzy, but Harry could hear his lover with clarity. He nuzzled into his touch eagerly.

“Tomm,” he giggled, happiness bursting inside him. He lo-oved Tom. Tom. Tom.

The man reached for something from his neck and put it in Harry’s palm.

“Do you remember what this is, Harry?”

Harry tilted his head. Tom?

Tom smiled. Harry smiled back.

“It’s our locket, Harry.”

“Lo-khh-t?”

“That’s right, Harry,” Tom nodded, still smiling. Harry loved it when Tom smiled.

“It was already beautiful, Harry. The best present I’ve ever gotten. I don’t think you’ll ever know how happy it made me,” Tom whispered. “But now it’s even more special.”

“Spe-shul?”

“Yes, Harry,” Tom kissed his forehead gently. “Have you ever heard of a horcrux?”

Harry squirmed slightly, eyes crinkled shut, while Tom kept peppering kisses onto his face. It was wet.

“You don’t have to worry, love, I’ve done the ritual for you. There’s only one final step you have to do and your soul will be safe. The locket will keep it safe.”

Harry didn’t know what Tom was talking about.

To om. To

om.

His kisses were still wet on his skin but Harry gave up on squirming and opened his eyes. He saw Tom crying.

“Tom?”

“I love you, Harry. I love you so much.”

“Love Tom,” Harry enunciated. A bit of salty water fell on Harry’s lips. “Lo-ove.”

Tom choked out a laugh.

“Harry, do you think you could get your claws out for me?”

Harry tilted his head. Claws?

Cl a ws? Veela cl a w s?

Harry didn’t understand, but he felt Tom slowly massaging his fingertips.

Cl a ws. Harry tried to make his fingers sharp. He wanted Tom to be happy.

“Good job, Harry,” Tom cooed.

Harry’s heart blossomed under the praise. He could feel Tom tenderly bringing his hand up to his chest. Harry could feel the thump thump of Tom’s heart gently beating.

“Thmp thmp,” Harry mumbled, hoping it made sense. It was a bit hard to speak.

He could feel Tom grin against his cheek and Harry felt happy again.

His claws slowly began to pierce through something. Harry’s hand felt warm. He could hear Tom choke out a gasp near his ear.

“Tom?”

“You’re doing great, darling,” Tom rasped out. “Just like that.”

Harry was still confused, but he kept pushing his hand in deeper. Tom choked on a sob and Harry hesitated, but Tom urged him to keep going. To om

To om. He wanted to make Tom proud.

Tom suddenly slumped against him.

“To-om?”

No response.

“To-om,” Harry insisted, wiggling his hand around. It felt wet and squishy. Harry nudged his nose along the top of Tom’s head where it was resting on his chest. He gave a light kiss and giggled. Tom was

sleeping? Silly Tom.

He began to give him another kiss when suddenly pain erupted in Harry’s chest.

“AaaAAAHhh,” Harry screamed as it felt like his soul was being pulled out of his body.

“To o o o o m aaahhHHh it hurtsssss,” Harry moaned, “Tommmm.”

To o m

To

om

Love

Tom

And then everything was gone.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had not gone searching when James Potter disappeared. Perhaps the pain of losing his wife had finally driven him away? But when both Harry Potter and Tom Riddle failed to show up for the new semester, the headmaster was forced to investigate.

He apparated to Riddle’s manor only to be met with emptiness. No one answered the door.

Dumbledore slowly walked around until he entered the bedroom. And there he saw

Harry, lifeless on the bed, arm gruesomely shoved inside Tom Riddle’s chest.

Their corpses were slightly rotting.

Dumbledore came closer to see a locket held loosely in Harry’s palm. He picked it up and opened it to see a photograph of Harry and Tom, looking at each other with love and snow delicately adorning their features.

It was exuding dark magic.

Dumbledore glanced at the locket one more time before setting it on the floor and burning it with fiendfyre. He gazed coldly as both the magic and the photo it contained were destroyed.

and so the locket burned

and so harry burned

until nothing was left

not even a lock of hair to remember him by

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end
> 
> wow  
> this was the second fic I've ever written, first I've ever finished  
> I hope you believe me when I say writing this was painful for me as well  
> had to drink a hot cup of tea by the time I finished to calm myself down (I encourage you to do the same, tea does wonders for the soul)  
> I know you might not believe me, but this kind of ending felt necessary, in a way. everything was slowly culminating towards it. well, I also would have liked a happy ending haha, but I feel from the very moment tom burned down harry's camp, the fire was bound to come around 
> 
> anyways  
> I hope you enjoyed this story? despite everything  
> hope you leave a comment letting me know your thoughts  
> and  
> I'm sorry  
> thanks to everyone who stuck with me this far and I hope this chapter didn't make you too sad  
> love all you guys <3


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